Neither
by bulletproofsince1999
Summary: I give you a glimpse of Kid!Lock, and then it goes to Teen!Lock. And you know, the usual stuff, angst, slight depression and Rated M for suspected sexual content and definitely the mention of drugs and their use, plus bullying... You've been warned.
1. Glimpse

Neither

One: Glimpse

"John, look!" Sherlock pointed with enthusiasm as John's hair flopped over his eyes. But he looked to the little creature crawling over the leaf and smiled.

"Wow, Sherlock! How did you find that?" he tried to stroke it.

"Don't," Sherlock pulled his hand away. "And I found it by looking, duh," he snorted but squeezed John's hand. "Come on, let's go find a butterfly now!" he was enthused and John followed, being practically drug across the field by Sherlock.

They trampled through flowers until Sherlock let go of John's hand and he sunk to his knees, "Did you find one?" John asked and Sherlock nodded, his little curls shaking and John smiling, and following his gaze.

This was beautiful and far more so than the fat green caterpillar they had found only a moment earlier. "Oh, Sherlock," he gasped, "it's so pretty," as they both stared at the blues and the greens mixed together on its wings.

"It's rare, and beautiful," he giggled, looking to the boy sitting beside him. "Let's show Mike!" he suggested and soon it wasn't a suggestion as they were running through the field and back to Sherlock's home.

John's hair was whipped from his small and round face as he ran beside Sherlock. They found Mycroft sitting with their parents, and Sherlock was so happy, "Mike, Mikey, we found a butterfly, and it's pretty and I want big brother to see," he demanded as he seized Mycroft's hand.

Mycroft pulled away, the teen pulling his hand free, "I have no time for little boys who have their head shoved far up their-"

"Mycroft! Go and play with your brother!" his mother demanded.

"But Mummy," he complained.

"No buts, or I'll kick yours. Go and see what he found. Go on," she shooed as John's mother was chuckling. Mycroft stalked behind Sherlock dragging John back to the field, and Sherlock showed him the rarity of the insect in the flower.

"Wow!" he actually said that, as he knelt with the five year old and his eight year old friend. "For once, you're not a complete idiot," he teased and bumped Sherlock's shoulder with his own.

"I told you it was pretty!" he was vibrating from joy and he squeezed John's hand harder. Mycroft did notice that Sherlock wouldn't let go of John, but he didn't see the blond boy complaining, so he didn't say a thing. He simply wished his brother hadn't fallen to such stupidity. Sentiment is boring and dangerous.

"Come now, Sherlock, I think it's supper time," he grabbed the boy's forearm and drug his brother along, and with him, little John Watson. "Mummy, is it time to eat yet?" he complained when he was standing in front of their parents again.

"Actually, the chef should be starting supper, here soon, why don't you and Sherlock go get washed up? Say bye to John, dear. Unless," she looked to John's mum, "you two want to stay with us and eat," she suggested.

"Oh, Mum, please?!" John begged as he latched onto her arm.

She nodded and chuckled, "Alright, as long as it's okay with Mrs. Holmes," she agreed and Mrs. Holmes smiled.

"Any friend of Sherlock's is a friend of ours, right dear?" she looked to the lazy man in the lawn chair who was about to fall asleep.

He snorted as he woke completely, and just realized what was being asked, "Oh right, yeah. John can even stay the night if he likes," he suggested as he drank from his glass of water, as his mouth had dried out from hanging open.

John was jumping lightly at the idea of staying over and Sherlock's eyes lit up, "Oh, could he stay the night?! Please! He can ride with me in the morning to go to school!" and his mother nodded.

"As long as Mrs. Watson has no objections," she looked to John's mother. She slightly rolled her eyes smiling and nodded, agreeing.

"I love you, Mum," John cheered as he gave her a kiss to the cheek and Sherlock did the same.

"Thank you!" and he drug John by the hand upstairs and to his bedroom that had a bathroom attached. "We can wash up in here," Sherlock suggested as John's eyes went wide.

"This is your room?!" he gasped and looked to the huge bed, then the complicated things spread out all over his room, ranging from science to maps, to simple drawings.

"Oh yes!" he boasted, then drug John to his bathroom. John was even more surprised when he thought the knobs on the sink were real gold. "No, silly, they do look pretty, though, don't they?" he nudged John's shoulder and the little blond boy nodded.

"Almost as pretty as the butterfly!" he agreed and Sherlock twisted one of the knobs.

"There, let's get washed up and eat. Our chef is amazing!" he boasted once more and John nodded furiously, plunging his hands into the warm water and he sighed at how warm it was.

o0o

Supper was just as good maybe even better than the rest of the house. John practically inhaled his food while Sherlock sat there and ate some, but the rest was pushed to the side. "Sherly, eat," his mum pressed. He glared at that nickname.

He shook his curls, "I'm not hungry," he complained and his mother sighed. John simply ate the last of his own and stared at his own mum to let him go. "Mum, can me and John do something else?" Sherlock asked, bored with food.

His mother rolled her eyes, "Don't get yourselves into any trouble, you hear?" and he nodded. John was pulled from the table and back up to Sherlock's room and he couldn't help but to feel like he couldn't do anything.

This wasn't his to mess with, so he didn't touch anything. He simply stood there. Sherlock stared at him as if he expected him to do something. John stared back, saying he had no idea _what_ to do. Sherlock smiled, and then he took John's hand and sat him down in the middle of the floor.

Then he was off to get something, and he came back with a game board. Okay, John could do that. He could definitely play Cluedo, but, "Sherlock, are you sure you can play this?" John was three years older, and he could understand more. Or so that was what he thought.

Sherlock nodded, "Mikey hates it, because I'm actually a match for him," he sat down and popped the cover and John eyed the pieces and cards.

"Okay," he nodded. What he didn't know was that Sherlock was the master of this game and John was in for it…

o0o0o

"God damn it! Sherlock, how the hell?!" John was definitely angry.

"John, do watch your language, I'm not sure Mum would appreciate it," he asked and John nodded, giving up on this game. The sixteen year old blond stood from the floor and plopped on the bed, flopping back in exasperation. "It's okay, Mycroft still hates it," he said, referring to the board game scattered in the middle of his floor.

He loved looking to the middle of the floor and seeing the slightly faded spots from the tradition of playing Cluedo every Saturday, seeing as it the day they met as young children. Sherlock never really did have friends until John showed his face.

Sherlock sat beside John and grabbed his hand as he used to when they were younger, and he never really stopped doing that. He squeezed in reassurance that John could calm down, and John sat up, looking at their joined hands.

If this were any other thirteen year old boy, John would have freaked out and dropped their hand. But it was Sherlock, and he always did this. So instead of being creeped out, he squeezed back, smiling into those lovely shade of blue/grey eyes.

Sherlock let go and asked, "Staying the night, then?" as he himself laid back and looked to the blond.

John nodded as the brunette eyed him, "You know it. Since when have I not? Or vice versa?" Sherlock shrugged as John made a good point.

"I imagine you have clothes and things, then? Like you _didn't_ last time," he teased. John crossed his arms over his chest and pouted.

"Shut up, William," using the name Sherlock hated the most to be used for him. All the teachers did it, and he always corrected them. He didn't care if it was only a week into the school year, the teachers are smart enough to remember that Sherlock hates it.

So when Sherlock tackled John to the bed, he wasn't surprised. "Don't call me that! I hate it," he straddled the blond and crossed his long arm over his own chest.

"Hate's a strong word, Sherlock," John teased and this position wasn't comfortable, but he didn't feel the need to push off the brunette. It was just… awkward? Yeah, guess that was it. But when Sherlock got up and left John's hips, he felt something else.

He couldn't hell what the hell that was, but he knew it didn't matter because Sherlock acted like it was normal. For them, it might as well have been normal. And then there was a buzzing in John's pocket. "Shit," he jumped and realized it was just his phone, and he pulled it from his jeans as he looked to the screen.

Just a text, from his mum. **John, dear I'm off, come say bye to your old mum…- CW**

John smiled and was down the stairs before Sherlock could follow, which he did. "Leaving already, Mum?" John teased and she smiled.

"Stay out of trouble," she always warned and he nodded, kissing her cheek and she said good bye to Mrs. Holmes and even Sherlock before she left. Sherlock never disliked John's mother, he just never connected with her the way he did John.

And then Sherlock drug John back upstairs, "You want to try another round, or watch telly or something?" Sherlock asked as John stepped back into the room and looked around at the bed over there on that wall to the left, the telly on the opposite wall, and then Cluedo in the middle of the floor.

Then it was the rest of the room, where the dresser was against the wall at the end of his bed and then there was a bathroom beside the telly. He processed this as he did every time he walked in here, and Sherlock smiled, waiting for an answer he usually got.

"Can we first clean up the game? I just want to watch telly," he admitted and Sherlock nodded. Soon they were on their knees on the floor, and the game was in the box as Sherlock stashed it on the top of his dresser, as he always does because it makes it easier to get to.

John took the remote from the top of said dresser as well, and their sides brushed together, and as said before, if it had been someone else, he would have blushed or something, but it was just Sherlock. What John was surprised to see was Sherlock step away a bit, and he was confused.

Did John hurt him or something? "Sherlock?" he reached out to touch his side again, but Sherlock inched away.

"Don't touch that," he put his hands over it to protect his waist. John looked to him with a face that said that if he didn't spill it now, John would make him spit it out. Sherlock simply shook his head and replied to John's silent request, "I- it isn't something you'd care about, it was… an accident, can we just watch telly, now?" he asked as John threw the remote on the bed.

"No, you tell me what's wrong, or I smack you," he threatened.

"You wouldn't," Sherlock smirked and John rolled his eyes.

"You're right, I wouldn't. Just tell me, please?" he asked, and stepped closer.

"No, just. Fine, not right now. Sometime later, just not now, yeah?" and John looked discouraged, but nodded. Sherlock looked to the remote and pushed past John to sit on the bed.

He plucked the remote from the edge of the mattress and sat all the way back, with his back to the wall and his legs crossed. He placed his hand over the spot that he wanted John to sit at, an John sighed, pulling himself there and sitting beside his best friend.

The telly flipped on and he smiled as Sherlock's head was on his shoulder. Once more, it _would_ have been awkward, but it was just the way they were. John rested his head upon Sherlock's curls and he exhaled, content that he wasn't at home.

Sure, he loved his mum, and all, but he liked being with Sherlock more than anyone else. He knew it sounded a little queer, but those who think that he _is_ queer can shove it up their arse. People at school had asked him if he and Sherlock were together and he denied every single one of them.

He had said, that they were together, but like brothers, and brothers don't kiss and have sex, now do they? They were practically raised together, and they had considered that was what made them so close. But soon John was getting tired and the bullshit for telly wasn't helping as he nodded off on Sherlock.

But Sherlock had already been asleep, and they ended up sleeping for about half an hour like that before they woke and realized they should actually go to bed. "John," Sherlock asked. John hummed, still half asleep, "can you stay here tonight? In my bed?" he asked.

John, not exactly knowing what was going on, but then again exactly what, nodded and they settled under the covers, separated. But that didn't last long as the lights were turned out and they fell asleep again. John somehow rolled over into Sherlock, and Sherlock accepted as they cuddled in their sleep.

But they only got a few hours in before Sherlock was whimpering about something and woke up not being able to breathe at first. His curls were plastered to his forehead as he had been sweating and he squeezed John's body in his grip.

John felt all of this and woke up from Sherlock squeezing the hell out of his ribs, "Sherlock," he tried to wriggle free. But then he felt tears against his shoulder. "Sher?" he asked and Sherlock buried his head further, the tears falling freely as he was still sobbing.

John quit trying to get free and instead wrapped himself around Sherlock. "Sherlock, it's okay now. Whatever you were dreaming about is gone," he assured and Sherlock nodded, but when he tried to stop crying, he went right back to it, and he couldn't help keeping his tight grip on the blond who smelled so good and who was comforting him.

Why did his nightmares have to stay when John was over? He had been having them ever since the first day of school, when that bastard did that to him. No one had ever actually intentionally hurt him like that, besides Mycroft, but even then, it was usually just a joke, you know? No, that fucking dick, was serious and he hurt Sherlock, a lot.

Now the little brunette will never forget the words, and the pain. He tried, but it wasn't enough and he could remember everything. "Sherlock, do you want to tell me about it?" when his tears had finally stopped. He shook his head.

"Okay, okay, sh," because Sherlock had started up again with John's words. How could someone so loving find someone like Sherlock? They had been friends for years, but only just now had someone got offended and approached Sherlock about it.

But he did eventually wipe away the tears for the third time and he looked to John, "I'm sorry," he croaked and John shook his head, having tears of his own forming.

"No, whoever or whatever did this, is going to pay. Do you hear me? I will protect you, and nothing will hurt you," he declared. John loved Sherlock, whether it was like a brother or a best friend he wasn't completely sure, (maybe both?), but he loved the tall brunette and he would never deny it.

"John," he hummed as he had brought Sherlock back into an embrace, "this isn't weird?" he asked, referring to their position in Sherlock's bed.

"No, you're practically my brother, and if you need me, I'm here," he promised and Sherlock smiled sadly as he was exhausted from sobbing. John let a few tear fall and they both fell asleep again until mid morning the next day.

"Sherlock," John nudged Sherlock's shoulder and he simply buried his head further, tickling John's ear with his curls and John giggled. "Sherlock, we have to get up," he said and Sherlock shot up, scowling at John. He had never woke up easy and when he did, he was always slightly pissed.

John laughed as Sherlock's curls were sticking out in every direction and he looked so pissy, it was hard not to laugh. Sherlock shook his curls and smoothed them out as best he could as he stared at John again, this time, it was a blank look.

"John," he said, sounding bored, but he was simply trying to hide his feelings now.

"Yes?" John had settled from giggling like a school boy.

"I think I should tell you what was wrong?" he said as John pulled both of them out of bed.

"If you feel like you can?" he was careful, as he knew what it was like to be sad and hurting. Sherlock had always fixed it somehow, but he still knew what it was like.

"Well, I think I can…"

* * *

**I don't know if this is any good so far. So, reviews are welcome, and even suggestions if you like?**


	2. Salutations

Two: Salutations

"I think I can…" Sherlock pushed his hands in his pockets of the trousers he had slipped on. But then Mrs. Holmes called them downstairs for breakfast. Sherlock looked angry, yet relieved. Now he had time to think about what he was to say.

"It's okay, later, then?" John asked as Sherlock reached out to John. John smiled taking his hand and squeezing it in reassurance, as Sherlock took hold and drug him downstairs. John couldn't help the grin he had in place.

He had to fight back a blush and he wondered why. But it didn't matter as the smile faded and he sat beside Sherlock at the table. Sherlock had let go of his hand as the chef served them. John was used to this by now, but he thanked the chef, like he always does.

Mycroft sat across from Sherlock, "Sherly, what's wrong?" he kicked him under the table.

Sherlock kicked back, harder, "Nothing, shut up, Mikey," he threw a hated nickname back as everyone knew Sherlock didn't like being called anything but Sherlock and/or Holmes. John squeezed his knee under the table and Sherlock's lips twitched in a would be smile if he wasn't reminded of what he had to tell John.

He knew he had to, or John would find out through other means, and those other means weren't so friendly. So as Sherlock pushed his food around his plate, John couldn't eat much either before they excused themselves and Sherlock practically ran upstairs.

John followed and Sherlock wheeled around grabbed John into a tight hug as he closed the door behind them. "John, it hurts," he complained.

"What does?" John asked, wondering if it was emotionally or physically. It was honestly both, but still.

"Well, first there's this," he lifted his shirt from his trousers and John gawked at what he had brushed over last night. He wanted to reach out and touch it, but he couldn't, knowing it would just hurt him even more. But he wanted to soothe Sherlock.

"And then," and John blushed fiercely as Sherlock pulled down his trousers and showed John his thigh.

"Sherlock," he almost had tears as Sherlock was to pull his trousers back up, and John's hand stopped him. "You need to clean those out if they're to heal properly," he pointed out.

"I know, already done," and he pulled his trousers over the harm he had put himself through. And he tucked his shirt over the bruise he had on his abdomen. "Do you want me to explain further?" Sherlock asked, situating himself on the edge of his bed.

"Please?" John asked as he sat beside Sherlock. He hadn't asked why Sherlock had harmed himself, and he hadn't asked why there was a bruise on his side. All he did was wait for Sherlock to explain himself.

Plus, John couldn't judge anyone in this situation. Sherlock himself had taken care of John's cuts. Sherlock knew John knew what this felt like. But he still didn't know how to explain it. All he knew was that this bastard by the name of Sebastian Moran had attacked him over John being his friend.

He had said thing about Sherlock trying to 'turn' John, whatever the hell that means. But John knew exactly what it meant, even though he didn't say a thing. He let Sherlock finish with what John never expected to hear, "He told me that if I didn't leave you alone, he would do the same to you," he had tears.

"John, please don't leave me," he begged and latched onto John's side as he sobbed, again. John soothed his friend, rubbing his back and telling him he wasn't going anywhere. But all of this was so sudden, and all because he and Sherlock were the best of friends.

If they actually were together, John couldn't imagine how much worse it would get. Wait, if they were…? John needed to stop thinking about this, and think about the hurt teen attached to his body. "Sherlock, I'm here, and he will never touch you again, do you hear me?" he made Sherlock look him in the eyes.

"John, he… he said-"

"I don't give a fuck what he said. Sherlock, he hurt you, and to the point of…" John shook his head. "No, I'm not leaving and he can deal with it. Besides, Sherlock, my father was in the Army, I think he taught me enough to handle myself. I'm fine," he promised and Sherlock buried himself again.

He knew John wasn't lying, but he couldn't help feeling like John was going to get hurt one day and it would be his fault, because he didn't leave John alone. John drug Sherlock to the pillows, where he tucked his head under his chin, and he let Sherlock do what he had last night.

Eventually the tears slowed and all together stopped, but Sherlock stayed in John's grip. "John, he didn't like how I deduced him," he finally admitted. "I know you were thinking what I had done to get him so angry. Well, there's us and then there's the fact that I had figured out he was cheating on his girlfriend. He called me a freak and… you know," he buried his face as far as he could before John replied.

"You deduced…?" John sighed, "Sherlock, what did I tell you about deducing people? They don't appreciate it like I do," he explained and Sherlock nodded, taking in the smell of his best friend, and he didn't want to leave this bed, ever again.

As long as he had John to take care of him, he was okay. John would help. He may not be able to protect Sherlock from the world, but at least he was there for Sherlock to fall back on. "John?" John hummed and Sherlock peeked a look up to his friend's face. "I don't understand," he admitted.

"You don't understand, what, Sherlock?" he asked, running his fingers through Sherlock's curls.

"I don't understand why you stick around," he admitted once again.

"Do you really think one person is going to make me hate you?" he asked.

"No, but I've been listening around and self harm is frowned upon, and you're quite popular with people. I didn't think you would-"

John shushed him with a finger to his lips, "Do you really think after all we've been through, with me being the way I was at your age, that I would abandon my best friend?" Sherlock's eyes widened. "Sherlock, just because I have people around doesn't mean I like them," he pointed out.

"But you always talk to them," Sherlock mumbled.

"And I will never stop talking to you, them I will at some point. They're _high school_ friends, you're a _best_ friend," he confirmed.

"I was unaware there was a difference," Sherlock sat up and looked down on the blond who was trying to make a long lost point.

"There's a big difference," he explained and Sherlock tilted his head in confusion. "Look, all my friends at school, they don't have the status you do. You've always been here, they haven't. ?They didn't even notice when I fell into hurting myself," he sat up and met Sherlock's eyes. "But you did, and you helped me, and now I have to return the favour," he nodded and Sherlock smiled sadly.

"I'm," he gulped at their proximity, "you're best friend? And they're not? What about Stanford?" he asked.

John rolled his eyes and brought Sherlock into another embrace, "You're my best friend, yes. And none of them have a thing on you, not even Mike," he confirmed and Sherlock relaxed as he hugged his friend back. "Now, can we go somewhere? This place is boring me," Sherlock nodded and hummed in agreement as they slipped from the bed and in turn slipped their shoes on.

John loved the look Sherlock walked in. He always wore a button down, but he had skinny jeans that were midnight black, and Converse that matched their color. While John only had a simply jumped over his button down and jeans. Though, he loved his mum for getting him Vans. He had always loved Converse and Vans. He didn't know why, either.

Sherlock looked to him before dragging him downstairs and warned his mum that they were leaving as he never let go of John's hand, even when they were outside and in that field behind Sherlock's house.

And in the distance there were woods, not much, but heavily enough to hide in if you really wanted to. "Come on, I want to show you something," Sherlock pulled on John's hand as they ran through the field and to the edge of the woods.

"Sherlock, what are we doing?" he asked as Sherlock just lead him through the trees and started climbing one.

"Come on, John, stop being so boring," he threw his arm down. "Get up here," he demanded and John used the tree as support as he grabbed Sherlock's hand.

"If I die, I'm haunting you," he teased as he sat in the branch with Sherlock. Then Sherlock climbed up even further about three branches and John followed. "I'm serious, Sherlock," he panted. But he continued to follow his friend up the tree.

Sherlock grinned as he finally stopped and looked down on the forest floor. "Look carefully, John, what do you see?" he asked as John joined him and looked to down to where Sherlock was pointing.

"I don't…" and then he saw it, "Sherlock," he gasped. He thought the sticks were just randomly laid as he crunched over them.

"I calculated which steps you and I would take and made a picture for you," he explained. "I get really bored after homework," he admitted.

"You could simply text me, not make a picture of… us, that is amazing," he breathed as he recognized the two faces made through the sticks and leaves.

"Texting is boring, this wasn't. and it still isn't perfect," he complained, but smiled.

"Nothing's perfect," _except for you… Whoa, Watson, shut up. and do not say that. _"But you managed," he nudged the boy's shoulder and Sherlock smiled, leaning on John's. John accepted and got this feeling, and he blamed it on being so high up in the tree.

But once they were able to get down, John landing not so gracefully on his ass, Sherlock's hand brought him up and never let go as they wandered back to the house. "So, a walk in the park? Get some real air, instead of being trapped here?" Sherlock suggested.

John nodded, "Sure," and their hands didn't separate as they walked the sidewalk in front of Sherlock's home and took turns to get to the park. The flowers there were beautiful as they could smell the roses from the beginning of the sidewalk leading into the garden.

And what's the best, is that that every flower there grew on its own. No one tended to them or anything, they were just there as Sherlock and John enjoyed them. "Sherlock," John teased as he picked a flower from the grass.

He placed it in Sherlock's curls as he tried to shake it out. "John, get it out. I don't like it," he complained and John laughed, plucking the purple flower from his dark curls and throwing it back to the grass. "Can we just lay here," he asked, as he pulled John down and John didn't even answer as they spread themselves out in the grass.

Sherlock took John's hand again and squeezed as they heard other people walking by. They all had a comment to make, but Sherlock heard one stop dead in their tracks. Sherlock sat up and looked behind himself.

John didn't sit up until he felt a death grip on his hand and he met Sherlock's gaze. Who the hell is… that must be. "Leave me alone," Sherlock demanded and the boy took a step towards them.

"I just wanted to say hi," and he smiled warmly, or what would have been warm if John didn't see right through it.

"Yes, you said it, now say goodbye, and leave," John pointed to the other end of the sidewalk and Sherlock's hand was squeezing so hard he was afraid his own might fall off.

The smile dropped and he gave a glare at John, "You have no business telling me what to do," and John rolled his eyes.

"I do when it concerns my best friend," he reasoned and squeezed back on Sherlock's hand, but in a reassuring way.

"That's what you call yourselves," he snorted and looked back to Sherlock, "got to him, didn't you? Stupid freak," he commented and was about to take a step closer to the curly haired boy, but there was someone in his way.

"You touch him and you'll have me to deal with," John stood in front of Sebastian, and he looked down on the little blond idiot.

"You won't be much to deal with," he snarled and John's fists curled as Sherlock stood and looked for a place to run to, but he didn't want to leave John alone. So what does he do?

"Moran! What did I tell you about messing with the normal people?!" this boy ran up to Sebastian and grabbed his arm. "You leave that boy alone," he scolded and Sebastian looked to his friend.

"Why should I?" he questioned. This boy shot a glare at Sebastian and he flinched.

"I am sorry about him. Jim," he extended a hand to John. John didn't take it. "Jim Moriarty," he nodded and stared at John.

"Did you know about what _Sebastian_ has been doing to my friend?" John was seething with anger and Jim looked to Sherlock.

Jim shrugged, "Sherlock isn't normal, he can take what's given to him," Jim glanced at him and wiggled his fingers, "Besides, Moran promises to leave you two alone, doesn't he?" he kicked the boy lightly and Sebastian shook his head.

"No, I don't. You can't tell me what to do," he pushed Jim from his side and grabbed John by the throat. "You're no good, you're just like him," and John struggled against Moran's suffocating fingers.

But what Sebastian made a mistake on, was lifting his feet a few centimetres from the ground. This gave John the ability to kick out and hit Sebastian's middle with power and they both dropped. Moran howled in pain and John scurried off the ground.

Sherlock couldn't take it, he grabbed John's hand, "John, let's go, now!" he pulled, but John stayed rooted to that spot, watching as Sebastian rose from the grass.

Jim simply gave up, "Do what you will, and when you get in trouble, it isn't my fault," and the other strange boy walked off. Sherlock tried to pull John from the garden, but John stayed.

"John, please!" he started to have tears as Moran stood a few inches above John and looked down on the boy.

"Why don't you run away with your boyfriend, John?" Moran spat and John squared his shoulders.

"Running is for cowards. Do what you want, but you lay a finger on this boy, and I will kill you," John growled and Sherlock's eyes widened as he had never heard such a tone from John.

He let go of John's hand, and backed away as he watched Moran try to touch Sherlock as a joke, but John's hand struck first, wrapping around his finger. "I said, don't touch him," and he bent it back as far as it would go without breaking it.

Sebastian was soon on his knees as people had started gathering to watch. But Moran's other fist struck John's thigh and he screamed as he was on his knees. He quickly recovered and was on his feet when he realized Sebastian had gotten up as well.

"Why are you so keen on protecting the little freak?" he shook the pain from his finger, and John rolled his eyes.

"It's what friends do, and I doubt you would know a thing about true friendship," his fists were curled again and Sherlock watched with wide eyes as John struck once, leaving a red spot that would bruise later about Sebastian's face. He took Sherlock's hand and his knuckles were bleeding and he didn't look back as he stormed off, dragging Sherlock along.

"John, why did you do that? Now he'll try again," Sherlock complained, but afraid. But he also walked away, trying to keep up with John.

"I'm sorry I'm not sorry...?"

* * *

**So, how was that? Reviews? **


	3. Walls

Three: Walls

"Just," Sherlock pushed John onto the wall of his room as he slammed the door shut, "don't do that, ever again," he had his hands on John's chest, pushing him away, yet still keeping contact. John was confused as to why Sherlock even cared that Sebastian was beaten.

But once he started processing it, he could see why. But he still wasn't sorry. "Fine, I won't," he grabbed Sherlock's wrist. "Let go," he asked quietly. Sherlock looked to his hands and dropped them to his sides.

"You should probably clean your hand," he noticed that John was bleeding, and it's not good to just let it go.

John looked to his knuckles, "I wonder if I'll be able to write tomorrow," he pondered as Sherlock grabbed his wrist and pulled him gently into the bathroom.

"You should be able to," he turned the handle of the faucet, "as long as you don't punch someone again, you should be fine," Sherlock finally smiled. John plunged his hand under the warm water, and was reminded of the first day they met, and how warm and fuzzy this whole place was. He still thinks it's all warm and fuzzy, but mostly because he practically lives here as it's his second home.

Sherlock went to work plucking his hand from the water and John stole the bandage after Sherlock had cleaned the cuts and it had stung. John worked the bandage over his hand and Sherlock just watched. John was independent, definitely. Sometimes, Sherlock hated it that John wouldn't let anyone take care of him.

But there was also once when John was completely helpless, and Sherlock could see why he didn't want to be in that situation again. "John," after the longest silence, "I'm sorry," he said.

John was confused, "For what?" he finally looked to Sherlock's eyes.

"For dragging you into my problems," he bowed his head slightly.

"Well, I'm not kicking and screaming," he joked. Then it got serious, "Sherlock, we already had this little row, remember? My problem is your problem, your problems are my problems. It's what friends are for," he placed a hand to Sherlock's shoulder and Sherlock looked to this hand. He didn't deserve a friend.

Sherlock removed this hand from his shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze, "Quite right." John looked at their joined hands, and wondered why no one had ever held Sherlock's hand before. Well, someone he was interested in, obviously his parents have and possibly Mycroft. But why not someone his age?

Why is he so lonely? Oh yeah, God that's so stupid. Why do people judge so much? Why can't they just accept that Sherlock is a fucking genius instead of calling him a freak? _He isn't a freak, he's different, brilliant even. I don't understand… _

"John, that's actually starting to hurt," he jerked away and John realized he was getting pissed again, and he had been squeezing Sherlock's hand in return. Yet he backed away, as if it was all his own fault.

"I'm sorry, I just," John tried to explain, he really did.

"It's fine, just stop thinking about it so much," of course Sherlock knew what John was thinking about. He was practically a mind reader.

So John simply accepted this, as he had always been read by Sherlock, "I can't," he looked into Sherlock's eyes, "stop thinking about it. It pisses me off to know that not only are they talking about you, but they're doing this," he lifted Sherlock's shirt. "And I couldn't stop them," he let it go and it fell loose to Sherlock's hip.

"I couldn't stop that woman from breaking your heart, but I was still there to pick up the pieces of my best friend," he pointed out as he tucked in his shirt again. "And I was pissed, because not only did she leave, but she started talking about you with things that weren't true. I will admit, I wanted to punch the living day lights out of her. But I didn't," do you see his point here?

John nodded slowly and realized Sherlock was right. But at least they didn't hurt John like Moran did Sherlock. All of it was words, Sherlock's was physical, and for that, John couldn't ignore this. And he said as much to Sherlock. "I realize you probably think I'm overreacting, but I swear to you, I don't care if I am. And I promise I will keep this from happening again," John declared.

"Don't swear, John. It's not polite," Sherlock smirked and John smiled slightly.

"Stop trying to cheer me up, you're the one with marks," he pointed.

"You're the one with a bloody hand," Sherlock took it in his own. John sighed loudly as Sherlock did something neither of them expected. He kissed the bandaged knuckles of John's hand, and John blushed as well as questioned his reasoning for this.

But just as Sherlock let go, checked his watch and started out the door, John's mum yelled up the stairs at them. John sadly left the room as well and Sherlock followed him downstairs as Mrs. Watson spotted the white strapped around John's hand.

"John, what did you do?" she asked as she lifted the hand to her lips, just as… Sherlock had done… and John realized why Sherlock had done that. Even if Sherlock didn't know or notice, he did.

But John pulled his hand away as if nothing had happened, "Just some bloke who wouldn't leave us alone. You should see him," John smiled.

"John, what did I tell you about getting into trouble?" she scolded as Mrs. Holmes gave a questioning look to Sherlock and his father simply gave a look that said he wanted an explanation.

"He started it," John mumbled and Sherlock rolled his eyes. "So, I guess I'm going home now?" John asked as his mum nodded.

"You have school in the morning and I have the hospital to get to. Say goodbye to Sherlock if you wish," she pushed him into the curly haired boy and smiled encouragingly.

What was with that smile? And the wink really confused John. But he embraced his friend and Sherlock did the same as he eyed Mrs. Watson. What was she thinking? For once, he couldn't read the expression she held.

But he looked down on John and into his eyes, "Listen to your mum, and stay out of trouble," he lightly scolded and John rolled his eyes. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock's neck and held him tighter.

"I can take care of myself," he mumbled and Sherlock made a face that said, 'No you can't,' but John didn't see it. "Bye, see you tomorrow morning," he ruffled Sherlock's curls as he could still feel his hands on his hips. _Why is Sherlock holding me like that? _

But he didn't have time to question before Sherlock said bye, and John was pulled out the door by his mother. "Glad I met her at the hospital?" she asked, referring to Sherlock's mother.

"Actually," he smiled as he rounded the car and opened door, "yeah, I am," and as he was seated, he pulled the belt over his shoulder and closed the door. Mrs. Watson just smiled and started the car.

"I'm sure he'll be good for you, just don't end up like Harry," she warned, and John's eyes widened.

"Oh, Mum, not you too," he complained, "we're not like that!" he insisted.

"No?" she quirked a brow and John nodded furiously, making a face that said, 'Yeah!' "Well, he's still a good boy," she nodded as she pulled out and onto the road. John huffed and crossed his arms over his chest, blushing at the thought that he and Sherlock were so close, his mum thought they were gay for each other. That's an absurd thought, isn't it?

* * *

"Dad, I'm telling you, he started it," Sherlock pounded his fist to the table for exaggeration, and made sure he didn't hurt himself.

"Okay, calm down, son. Just make sure John stays out of trouble. And you, too," Sherlock's father scolded. "By the way, what's the deal with you two? You seem…" he tried to find the word.

But Sherlock's mother finished, "Close. Almost too close to be just friends," she accused and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Do you really want to go down this road? Mum, just because my orientation is different, does not mean I like every boy I come into contact with," he complained.

"No, I'm not saying that at all," she squeaked. "What im saying is, that he's good to you, and I wouldn't blame you if you had a crush on him. You did grow up together and you know him better than anyone," she went on and on about how Sherlock and John would be adorable together.

Mr. Holmes saw the look about Sherlock's face, and decided to cut her short. "Let the poor boy alone. Even if he did like John, he could never be with him," that actually hurt a little, "John only thinks of them as friends, brothers even. And I doubt brothers date each other," he shook his head and Sherlock nodded a thanks to him.

She looked to Sherlock, and then she looked to her husband and decided he was right. Sherlock spoke though, "All I'm wondering is why he's staying when there's so much crap in my life that even I run from," he admitted.

"That's what friends are for, dear," his mum patted his hand and he shrugged. Then Sherlock completely excused himself from this now unneeded and awkward conversation. He trudged up to his room, closing the door behind himself and sitting on his bed.

Sherlock sat about his bed, swinging his feet and with his hands steepled under his chin. He thought about why he had acted the way he did around John. Also how he and Mrs. Watson had reacted the same way about John's injury. Feelings had always confused Sherlock. Especially when it came to John.

But why especially around John? Why was John so different? Maybe it was simply the fact that he and John were the closest of friends? Or _was_ Sherlock crushing on his friend? Dear God! No, that's not right! But when he went over it again, it seemed to be the only explanation to the thought process.

Sherlock likes John… but why him? You know, he went over it again, and no. He just really cared for John. They were like brothers, raised together and everything. And that had to be the reason he had reacted like John's mother would have, because John was family. And no one abandons family. Besides, who was that one girl that had obviously been crushing on Sherlock? Oh yes… She _was_ pretty…

* * *

John plopped on the couch and toed off his shoes as he flipped on the telly. "I don't think so," his mum plucked the remote from his fingers.

"Mum," John whined as she sat down on the cushion next to him.

"You have school in the morning, get your arse to bed or I kick it upstairs," she threatened. He sighed in frustration as he trudged up the stairs to his room. John closed the door and stripped as he redressed in PJs. And he finally gave up and climbed into bed.

He _was_ a bit tired as he started to doze off. And just before he was sleep, he heard a little tap at his window. He rolled over to make sure he had actually heard that. And then there it was again, as if a pebble had hit his window.

He stood and waited to hear it once more before he decided he wasn't dreaming. And sure enough, there was a third tap. And he even heard the pebble drop onto the outside window sill. He sighed, pushing the window up and looking the five feet down to where someone was standing in the night.

There was a street lamp just behind her figure as she stood in a coat, slightly shivering. No, shaking. She was nervous. Definitely shaking as she dropped the rock she was about to throw. So she wanted John, but why?

He rolled his eyes, "What do you want?" he whispered loudly and she looked up at the window, wondering if she should run, or if she should stay and tell him, then ask him. "Hello?" she just stood there, thinking.

"John, um," she fidgeted, "I have something to tell you, and um," she struggled.

"Just say it," John demanded.

She nodded, still visibly shaking and she had butterflies as well as was nervous. "O-Ok-kay," she stuttered and John had to say, it was completely adorable…

* * *

**Haha! So, pissed at me yet? Reviews?**


	4. Well

Four: Well

"Spit it out, Mary," he demanded as she was blushing. Though, he couldn't see a damn thing but her lovely and short blond hair, and her curves as she was slightly shivering now in the cold of the night. She shoved her hands in her pockets as she spoke, finally.

"John, um, I… I like you, m-more than a friend…" and a short silence was there before he gestured for her to continue and it was just so adorable, he couldn't help but smile as she nodded. "And I was wondering, if would um… if you would take me… to the dance…?" and she was full out shaking as she swiped her bangs from her face and awaited his answer.

"The 'Back to School' dance?" she nodded and he did chuckle a bit, and she was getting a lot more nervous about his answer. "I don't know, Mary," he teased, "what do you think would happen if I did?"

She shrugged, "I don't know, it's a yes or no question, you tit," she was getting irritated now. She didn't want to stand out here anymore, not if he was going to be an arse about this.

"Okay, okay. Sure, but I have to ask," he dropped his chin about his elbow, "aren't you one of the those idiots who thinks Sherlock and I together?" he rose his brows at her and she rolled her eyes.

"Why would best friends be gay for each other? I don't understand why people thought and still think that, either. I am sorry about Sarah, and after she started that rumour, I quit being her friend. So, no, I don't think you're dating Sherlock. If you were, I'd be cool with that, but I know you aren't," she paused to get in a breath and continued, "And besides, if you really were, I'd be jealous as hell," she admitted and John felt his face getting hot.

"You would?" he asked, truly curious.

"Oh, fuck yeah. Of both of you," she admitted, "he's got looks too, you know. By the way, Janine's got an eye on him," she winked. "Think I should set them up?" she asked, getting excited again.

John nodded furiously, "That would be adorable, don't you think?" he asked and she nodded back. "She's even tall enough to match his height. Oh, do it!" his voice was a little higher and he was almost giggling. "By the way, is there any chance," as she had pulled out her mobile, "I could have your number?" John asked, not at all awkward.

She giggled, "You really have no awkward questions to ask, do you?" she asked, but gave in, "But, sure, here," and he grabbed his own mobile from his nightstand as she read off the number, slow enough for John to type it into his text message box.

He gave her a quick text of a smiley face and she smiled back at the screen. "Well, we have school tomorrow, and even though your house is three away from mine, you should get to bed," he teased and she waved her hand at him.

"You're not my mother," she accused and he shrugged. But she said bye and he waved a little as he watched her disappear.

Then he had to know, but she was too far for him to yell at her. So, he opened his phone again and texted his question: **Why didn't you just wait to ask me tomorrow?- JW**

**'Cause I couldn't stop thinking about it, us, you...- MM**

**Oh...- JW**

He sighed, content that he had been woken up. That was actually worth being awake for a few more minutes. He got a date to the dance he was originally not going to, and he got a girl's number. Which reminded him, he should delete Sarah's from his phone.

But that could wait as he closed the window and slipped under the covers again, falling asleep instantly, smiling slightly…

* * *

Sherlock jumped from his bed, and decided that was the third time, and he was fucking done waking up with a sweat framing his curls. He threw the covers from his hands and decided he might as well get ready for today.

Then he looked at his clock, and yeah, he needed a shower and was dressed. He needed to be awake and about by now anyway, and he greeted his mother downstairs after a quick shower, "Mum," he nodded as he plopped down in a kitchen chair.

"Sleep well, dear?" she asked as she plopped a plate of food in front of him. Usually his mum didn't cook, as she was never home to do so. But when she did, he savoured every bite.

And he shook his head through bites, "A bit restless, not sure why, but it could have been better," he admitted. Though, he knew why he hadn't slept well. She sighed and placed a kiss to his temple.

"It's okay, it'll get better," she promised, not sure what was wrong, but she wanted it to be okay anyway. Mycroft rolled his eyes as he knew exactly what was wrong. He had helped drag Sherlock from Moran's grip and he wasn't all too happy when the asshole had left a huge fucking bruise about his youngest brother.

And when she turned around, he gestured for Sherlock to lift his flannel, and Sherlock, knowing why, did as he was silently asked. Mycroft gave a tight smile as Sherlock lowered his shirt and his mum turned back round, placing her own plate down, and sitting in turn.

Sherlock shoveled her food down his throat, and groaned at how good it tasted. It was so much better than their family chef did usually. She was pleased as she ate her own and Mycroft actually did eat something. Very little, but still.

"So, Mycroft, still taking your brother to school?" their mum asked and he nodded. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Why can't you drive me today?" he complained.

"Because I don't know if I'll get called in for an emergency or not. It's fine, Mycroft can take you," she nodded and he finished eating as Mycroft pushed back his plate and Sherlock stood. He said goodbye to his mum and Mycroft lead him through the door beside the kitchen that lead to the garage and he advanced on the small black car.

Sherlock had always detested the fact that Mycroft never added color to himself. Sherlock always wore a suit, but at least he added color once in a while. But Mycroft was boring and he kind of hated it.

Sherlock always splashed himself in blues and purples and sometimes even greens and reds. But Mycroft always wore white or black, and it really was boring. Sherlock said nothing, though, as he slipped in the passenger seat, with his bag already at his feet.

He always completed his homework and slipped his things back in Mycroft's car, because Mycroft always took him to school. He hated it, but it was something that always would be, and it became tolerable over the long years.

Honestly, the only not boring thing in Sherlock's life was John. He didn't even know the one girl he slightly had his sights upon. She knew him, obviously, but he knew almost nothing about her. And really, it would probably stay that way…

* * *

John spotted Sherlock walking through the doors and he pulled him from the crowd, "I want you to meet someone," he pulled at his hand and Sherlock rolled his eyes as John added, "Okay, two people," and they stopped in front of two giggling girls.

"This is Mary, and this is Janine, I already know them, boring," he spouted and Janine seemed a little hurt as Mary rolled her eyes, and so did John.

"Sherlock," he squeezed tighter and Sherlock huffed. Then he pulled him down, "you should ask Janine to the dance. She really likes you," he winked and Sherlock blushed lightly, looking to Janine, who could have passed as a red apple with that blush.

"Hi," she waved a bit and Sherlock smiled. He actually smiled at someone other than John, and for that his friend was pleased as he looked to Mary, silently saying they should ditch the yet to be made couple. "So, tell me about Sherlock Holmes," she giggled and Sherlock stepped closer, still smiling, but the blush faded.

John and Mary escaped as they still watched the two talk and heard Sherlock's low chuckle and her giggle. John smiled as he pressed a kiss to Mary's cheek. "I guess this is a job well done," he grinned at her and she had a pink creeping across her pale cheeks.

"I think it is," she nodded. "Would you like to celebrate?" she asked as she pushed John to the closest wall lightly.

"Why? And how, exactly," though he knew what she was going for. She just smiled and slowly nodded. He was about to say something else, when her lips cut him off. He smiled into them and was pleased as he kissed her back.

She sighed, finally this moment was here and she was being wrapped in John's arms. She hung her arms around his neck as more giggling broke out over Sherlock's voice. John smiled, and caught Mary's lips again, and she accepted, pressing harder.

* * *

Janine gasped, looking over Sherlock's shoulder, "Aren't they just adorable?!" she squealed and Sherlock's smile faltered a bit as he had turned to see what she was looking at.

But it was replaced with a grin as she hung from his shoulders, and he nodded, "Yes, they are actually," he eyed them and Janine pressed herself to Sherlock's side. "So, um, I have a question," he started and Janine hummed as she looked into his beautiful eyes.

She hadn't noticed how pretty they were, especially when they were looking at her. And she smiled even wider when he asked her to the dance. She squeaked, being brought closer by his long arms and then she swooned.

He was perfect as she said she would gladly let him take her. "But one thing, before we do that. I want you to know that I don't care if you 'deduce' me. And I don't care what people say about you, or us. I like you, and that's all that matters, okay?" she stroked his curls from his forehead and he actually blushed.

"I.. well," he nodded, "okay. By the way, and I know this portably sound really creepy out of context, but where do you live?" and she laughed.

"It does," she agreed, "but um," and she told him the address as he temporarily froze. She lived so close. How had he not noticed her before? "Sherlock?" she smiled and waved a hand over his vacant face.

"Sorry, it's just. You live so close, how did I not see you before?" he asked as he looked upon her features again and she was grinning.

"I don't know," she shrugged and Sherlock smiled. "And another thing, if I press you for something you don't want, just tell me," she explained.

"How do you mean?" he furrowed her brow and she smiled.

"I mean, if I go too far, like kissing or something, just tell me, won't you?" she asked and he nodded, understanding.

Then he explained to her that he would tell her whether she had asked or not, that's just the way he was and she giggled again, ruffling his curls as John does sometimes. He smiled, too as the bell rang. "Damn," she swore and he grinned, she had a bad mouth. He thought this would prove to be interesting.

But what he couldn't wrap his head around was why he liked her in the first place. He had sworn from sentiment aside from John, a long time ago, so why was she so different? Then he figured it was just his hormones or something, and that this crush would pass, as the other ones had.

Plus, he knew that if it was just his body, he wouldn't grow too attached to her, and that was a good thing. It meant no more trouble with emotions, nasty things. Even though, he had to like her to feel the way he did, at least he didn't love her. That would _really_ be bad…

* * *

The last bell rang and John was so happy. But his mum had texted him in the middle of last period, saying he should ride home with Sherlock, because she was staying late at work. Oh, but that means he can't walk home with Mary. Damn. But oh well, he wanted to ask Sherlock about Janine anyway.

"Sher!" he grabbed Sherlock's hand, and instantly let go as Mary took it. "Mum texted, she said I should go home with you," he nodded and Mary was displeased.

"But that means you can't walk me home. Oh well," she smiled, "I'll text you," she wiggled her fingers and gave John a kiss to his lips quickly before stomping up the stairs to her bus.

"You seem to have hit it off well with her," Sherlock nudged John as they walked to Mycroft's car.

John blushed, "Yup. By the way, what about you?" he nudged back and Sherlock smiled…

* * *

**Hehe, John and Mary... Sherlock and Janine... Torture yet? Anyway, reviews?**


	5. Fine

Five: Fine

"So, do you like her?" John asked, but he couldn't get an answer as someone tapped his shoulder. He turned, as Sherlock made him move away from the fist that had been aimed for his face. Mycroft was going to do something, but the school should take care of this soon enough. right?

Plus, Moran was sporting a bruise that John smiled at. "Your freak boyfriend stole my girl!" he raged and tried to grab John's shoulder, but he pulled away.

"Wrong and wrong. Not a freak, and not my boyfriend. And he didn't steal your girl, she likes him fair and square," John defended, ready to hit him if he really wanted it again.

"I don't believe you," he spat and someone grabbed at Sherlock's elbow as John and Sebastian had a staring contest.

"Sherlock, there you are," she planted a kiss to his cheek and nuzzled into his shoulder, hugging him. Moran looked over at Sherlock embracing Janine, and his face got red as John put a firm hand to his chest.

"Don't you dare," his eyes fiery with anger.

"Fuck you," he pushed John to the side and grabbed Janine by the wrist. "She's my girl," and Mycroft was about to fucking _do_ something if a teacher or the principal even, didn't walk up in there.

"I am not an object," she pulled away. "And _I_ am with Sherlock, leave me alone already!" she shouted and even Sherlock cringed.

"You stupid whore," Sebastian mumbled, his fists clenching at his sides.

"Been called worse," she stuck her nose in the air and hung on Sherlock's arm.

"Yeah, what's that?" she knew he would be stupid enough to ask.

"Yours. Come on Sherlock, ignore the fuckstick," she pulled at his arm and John chuckled at that nickname.

Sebastian was flustered as he gave up and walked off. Sherlock turned to Janine, "Which bus do you ride?" he gestured and it was the closest one. He took her there to the doors, and she embraced him tighter than before.

"Thank you," she placed a soft kiss to his lips, and he blushed like hell as she giggled and was off up the stairs.

John chuckled as he slid into the seat behind Mycroft. "I would have done something, but that would have required letting him see me," and John understood as he nodded and Sherlock was in the seat next to him, still slightly blushing.

"Well?" John prodded. And Sherlock spilled everything, from the deductions he'd made about her and how fascinating she was as a girl. John grinned the whole way to Sherlock's home, and simply listened to Sherlock boast about his new girlfriend.

But what Sherlock caught himself doing surprised him. In his head, he was comparing all of Janine to parts of John, and he knows that's one of those things that you shouldn't do, but he couldn't help it. Janine was amazing, don't get me wrong, but John was his best friend, and he would easily choose his best friend over his girlfriend.

And the funny thing, John was silently doing the same with Mary. And when they burst through the door, John finally told Sherlock all about Mary and her traits that he loved the most and everything. They had to admit, they felt like girls, and listening to them talk about it, you would have thought so, too. But they didn't care as John shut the door to Sherlock's bedroom behind himself and they were both grinning as John continued.

Sherlock listened and John wondered if Sherlock knew that John would choose him over anyone else in a heartbeat. But he finished as they pulled out their homework. "Seems you like her, a lot, then," Sherlock smiled.

"Yeah, and if it wasn't for us," Mary and John, "you wouldn't have gotten Janine," he grinned back. "Anyway, we should get on this," as they had all the same classes, just at different times from each other. And Sherlock nodded, agreeing.

* * *

Once night fell was when things got weird, or maybe just award, or something. Well, more it should have been awkward or weird or something. "John, can you stay the night?" Sherlock grabbed at his sleeve.

"Sherlock, I don't have-"

"Please," he practically begged with his eyes and John melted, giving in.

"I'll text mum to bring me something to change into," he nodded and did as he said. She texted back a few moments later, saying it was okay, and she was heading to get him anyway. So she could just bring something when she came over.

Sherlock sighed in relief as he embraced John tightly. "I don't want to have nightmares again, and if I do, can you wake me up?" he asked, and John patted his back.

"Yes, I promise," he nodded and hugged back as Sherlock smiled sadly and John simply didn't know what to do. "So, do you want me to sleep in here, with you?" he asked and Sherlock nodded, having an apologetic look about his features. "Hey, no don't do that. It's okay, really. It's fine," he reassured the brunette and Sherlock nodded.

"I know it might be awkward…" he started.

But John didn't let him finish, "Not at all. Sherlock, I care about you, and a brother would hold their sibling if they needed them to," he assured the boy in front of him.

"They would?" truly oblivious to what a true sibling does for another. John nodded, and smiled.

"Mycroft really is mean," he joked, but Sherlock nodded. Mycroft isn't mean, though, he just didn't have a heart. Sherlock would have modeled after him, if John hadn't plucked him from his brother. In many ways, John showed Sherlock how to live.

If Sherlock had never met John, he wouldn't be the way he is now. Maybe that's a good thing, maybe that's a bad thing, neither of them knows, do they? Slightly fifteen minutes after, John's mum yelled up the stairs and John rushed down to meet her.

"You're staying here tonight?" she asked as she hugged her son.

"Yes, Sherlock needs me, and he would do the same for me," he was sure, and Mrs. Watson smiled. She gave him a kiss to his forehead and told him to stay out of trouble, and handed him a change of clothes and pajamas. "Bye Mum," he hugged her again and she was gone as John ran back upstairs.

"I'm sorry," Sherlock apologized again.

"Stop saying that. You have nothing to be sorry for. Just don't kick me out of the bed, and I'll deal," he joked.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at John, "No promises," he smiled and hugged his friend. "Seriously, though. Does your mum still think we're… you know?" and John laughed.

"I don't know, honestly. I still haven't told her about Mary, so quite possibly," he admitted. Sherlock nodded. Eventually they did change, and they slipped under the covers in the darkness.

Sherlock snuggled into John's shoulder, and John just let him. He had no objections, really. He simply rested his forehead against Sherlock's curls and took in the smell of him. Sherlock always smelled good, and John had no idea how.

"What happens in the dark, stays in the dark," Sherlock joked, and John chuckled.

"Alright," he nodded and agreed. John made sure Sherlock fell asleep before he did, and eventually they were both in a deep sleep that they both needed…

* * *

Mary woke to someone texting her just as her alarm clock was going off. It was Janine: **Do you think it's working? –J**

**Patience, Janine. It's too early to tell- MM **She decided to text back and get ready at the same time.

**Ugh. I like him, but he needs to just be happy. How long do you think this will take?- J**

**I said patience. I don't know, it could be until way after the dance.- MM**

**That long? He's so lonely, though…- J**

**I know, isn't that the reason we're doing this?- MM**

**Yeah, yeah. But still. Isn't John lonely?- J**

**Those two aren't completely lonely, but they don't know that yet. Let them realize it on their own. Until then, stop pushing… Besides, we need to get ready for school. And I doubt you are- MM**

**Whatever…- J**

* * *

"Sherlock! Hey," Janine cooed at his side, and he gave her an endearing smile. What was with that smile? He didn't give to John, or Mary. She didn't know as Mary found her, Sherlock and John.

"John," Mary was delighted. He greeted her with a kiss and she smiled. The rest of their morning was filled with unneeded chatter and every so often, as both of the girls noticed, Sherlock and John stole glances at one another, and it was adorable. Or at least the girls thought so.

Surprisingly, Sebastian didn't try anything that day. Although, they did see him, with that Moriarty kid. John took one good look at them, and wondered why Moran judged Sherlock if he was doing the same thing they were?

Just look at the way Jim attached himself to Sebastian, and he doesn't even care. In fact, John would say he's delighted. Far off, Moran and Moriarty had a conversation that no one else could hear, and thank God.

"Sebby, don't look so mean," Jim complained. Moran rolled his eyes and Jim playfully hit him. "Don't ignore me, you know where that goes," he warned.

"It goes to your death if you don't let go of me," he smiled sweetly, yet menacingly, and Jim held fast.

"No. You're mine, and you have to stay by my side," he grinned.

Sebastian rolled his eyes again and settled against the tree, as Jim slid down to lean on his shoulder. "I would gladly stay by your side if you wouldn't stick to mine," he explained and Jim scoffed.

"Fine," he threw down Sebastian's arm and simply sat. "How long do you think before they realize what those girls are really doing?" Jim poked at Moran.

He shrugged, "Possibly after the dance. Or," he grinned.

But he didn't finish as Jim asked, "What exactly did Sherlock do that you're so mean to him. Don't get me wrong, it's very promising," he chuckled, "but why?" Jim asked.

"Janine," he started. "She left me for him. Even though it's a little obvious he doesn't like her as much as I do or did, I guess she's still happy. But I don't understand, why him?" he looked to the boy leaning in to hear him better.

"Well, Sherlock does have some looks, but you're right, I don't… oh, that's fun," he suddenly fixed as he stared Sherlock down. "Just look at the boy, Sebby. You can almost see the genius oozing off of him," he giggled. "This will be so much fun. So, what do you have in mind for Friday?" the dance.

"Dunno, maybe just a little something… damaging," he smirked and Jim lit up.

"How much so?" he asked, eager.

"Wouldn't you like to know," he teased and Jim rolled his eyes. But Moran did tell him, and Jim was very delighted to hear it. Wouldn't really kill Sherlock, but it'll get his attention. And make him lose his grip on Moran's girl...

* * *

That week had passed slowly but surely. And Sherlock and John were standing at the mirror in Sherlock's bathroom, wearing what they were to the dance. "I still can't believe your mum got me this. Why should it matter to her?" he looked over himself.

"John, you're practically her third son, she would do anything to make you and or me happy," he rolled his eyes and John messed with his hair. "Stop it," he complained and John grinned.

"Make me," and Sherlock plucked John's fingers from his hair. He rose a brow and John grinned even more. Sherlock held these hands in his own and squeezed them, as John's cuts had healed to the point of just fluffy, pink and new flesh.

John pulled his hands from Sherlock's and looked one last time in the mirror and Sherlock ruffled his own curls, "I don't want bed head or a rat's nest, arse," he teased and John just laughed. Sherlock smiled, though and soon they were downstairs and of course, Mycroft was driving them to get Janine and Mary. Janine was first, obviously.

She looked so surprised that Sherlock pulled her in, "Hey," he purred and she blushed.

She lightly tapped his shoulder to mimic a slap, "Let's go," she settled and closed the door as Mary was next. John was nervous as hell, but Sherlock seemed so cool when it came to making Janine swoon, without even trying to. Damn.

When John stepped out of the car, Mary gasped, and giggled. "You look sexy," she promised and greeted him with a kiss to the cheek and Sherlock was growing impatient, as he just wanted this event over and done with.

Sebastian hadn't pulled anything all week, and Sherlock was afraid he might, and it'll be worse, much worse. John and Mary settled with John smooshed into Sherlock as she cuddled into him. Mary smiled at Janine and Janine winked back.

Sherlock noticed all of it, and girls do talk a lot, so maybe they were talking about what they were going to do to the boys at the dance? Sherlock hoped that was it and he smiled down on Janine as she grinned back up.

Then Mycroft simply told them to stay out of trouble and they all complained that he wasn't their mother. He rolled his eyes and said he would be back at the end to pick them all up. God knows what teenagers do at these things, even if there're teachers…

* * *

**Warning you now, there's major feels and the next chapter might make you mad. But... tell me what you think so far? **


	6. Break

Six: Break

John entered first, Mary at one shoulder and Sherlock at his other, with Janine attached to his arm. Again, she gave Mary that look and both boys were so confused. But Sherlock thought he was starting to finally figure it out. John was still lost as both of them agreed that they had to use the restroom, and the boys thought it was simple enough.

"My God, do I have to give him up?" Janine complained playfully.

"I know right?! They both look smexy tonight," Mary put her hands to her face and Janine nodded. "But," Janine perked up, "it'll be worth it to see them happy, yeah?" she nudged Janine's arm with her own and Janine nodded, smiling sweetly.

Though, while they were talking and giggling over their dates and hopefully, soon, not their dates… anyway, as they were doing this, there was John and Sherlock, standing awkwardly as more and more people starting showing up and there was music on, but it was a strange beat that neither Sherlock nor John knew.

And then there was when Sherlock inched closer because some person was trying to get by, and he had to move. And John didn't move as someone had shoved John into Sherlock's side. John grabbed at anything, and that anything just happened to be Sherlock's hand. But as the lights had darkened, Sherlock couldn't see the blush creeping across John's cheeks, only the smile.

Sherlock held fast, holding John off the floor, and he finally stood straight up and properly as they just awkwardly looked at each other. People had started whispering about them holding hands like that, and John snaked his hand from Sherlock's, hoping he'd understand. Sherlock smiled and John nodded. A silent understanding, they had had many of those since they met.

But that was when Sherlock and John had something they didn't expect thrown in their faces. Well, not literally, but yeah…

Janine walked out first, dragging Sherlock into the hall where the music wasn't so loud. "Sherlock," she started and she looked nervous. "Um, there's something I have to say, and I know this may sound mean, but I couldn't help but notice, um…" she looked almost as if she was about to cry. "You, um," she looked down as she spoke, "you like... John, and it's really... obvious, so I wanted to say that I um," she couldn't continue as Sherlock did for her.

"You're leaving me, because you think I like my best friend," it was supposed to be a question, but he could see it on her face as she nodded and finally looked up to his eyes, her own watering. "I hope you know, I think you're a fool," he turned and walked back in to go back to John, but John was being pulled out by Mary as Janine simply breezed past Sherlock back into the dark and the music. Sherlock knew...

Mary pulled on John's arm, and he knew there was something wrong as she started speaking. And John was a bit horrified, but her reasoning wasn't far off. "Don't you see, though? I want you to be happy, and with him, you can be," she nodded and he shook his head at her slowly.

"I am happy, Mary. I don't-" she put a finger to his lips.

"Really? Don't go there with me. You never miss a chance to bring him up in conversation," true, "you were just now holding his hand," true, but it's more complicated than that, "and just... the way you look at him," she pointed out as he was confused.

"The way I look at him?" he tilted his head slightly as she explained once more.

"Yes, like he's the only other person on the planet and like you… like you love him as such," she said sadly. John was so confused. "Look, I've seen people look at each other like that before, and I understand. Like I said, I have nothing against you, or him."

"So then this is…? You're…?" he couldn't even finish as she did for him and he was a bit crushed, but all the points she just made... They were all true, with context that explained them, but they were still cold, hard facts. This was what scared John, as he didn't know what to do now.

She walked back in as Sherlock finally walked out, finding John sitting with his head in his knees and his arms wrapped around them. "John?" Sherlock sat beside him on the floor with his back to the wall.

"What?" John sounded irritated. But he was thinking about this, and he couldn't let anyone see his face. Too many emotions crossed it for anyone to understand. Sherlock would, though.

"Look at me," Sherlock demanded. John looked up and stared hard at Sherlock as he continued. "Good, now that I have you undivided attention, I think I know why Janine and Mary did this," he admitted, referring to the break ups, and John rolled his eyes.

"Really…" he said doubtfully, and Sherlock nodded and he was about to say, but someone was standing over them.

They both looked up and when they saw him they scrambled to stand. John was battling emotions and he was confused right now, but if Moran wanted another bruise or possible blood this time, he would gladly give it. But what happened next stopped him from doing anything like that.

"You know, it's really easy to get a weapon into this school, they should change that," Sherlock nodded and Sebastian was a bit confused. Then he wasn't.

Moran didn't even ask how Sherlock knew as he gave up and pulled a gun from his trousers. "Observant little freak, I'll give you that. I haven't decided yet," he admitted, looking to the pistol in admiration and John's stance changed as his eyes widened. "The Freak, or the freak's boyfriend," he fingered the handle as John simply stood, ready to push Sherlock from the path of a bullet, and Sherlock just smiled.

"You think you'll get away with shooting one of us? We're in a school, you dunce," and John grinned at Sherlock's insult.

"Exactly, there's so many people, it won't matter. They won't be able to prove anything," he smiled and finally looked to the brunette and the blond.

"Yeah, you're probably right, the idiots they are," Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Still, though. How do you expect they won't catch you at some point?" and Sherlock glanced at John, and that look said for him to run. John stayed. Sherlock frowned and Moran grinned wider.

"Lucy would love to put a bullet through you," he pointed lazily to John, and he tensed, but stayed. He wasn't leaving, no matter how nauseas he got. Sherlock wasn't at all pleased, because John's going to get hurt, and he can almost guarantee it now.

"Lucy? Creative," Sherlock admitted and shrugged as Sebastian looked to him, amused.

"Do you get it?" Moran asked as he aimed for the spot he would love to put a bullet through and he even took a few steps back to get a better range.

John was getting really nervous now, and his palms were sweating, and his breath seemed to leave with each one taken. Sherlock knew this was going to end badly, so he put his hands in his pockets, then behind his back, as if he was thinking. John hadn't noticed what he was doing until he heard the soft clicking of keys. _Oh, you genius bastard_… John smiled a bit.

Sherlock knew John knew, and Sherlock pulled it off as he continued chatting up Sebastian. Sherlock knew it wouldn't last long, but at least Mycroft would be able to help when it does happen. "Sherlock, wish your boyfriend sweet dreams," Moran pointed at last at where he thought would be best, and John flinched.

Sherlock leaned over John's shoulder, "Don't worry," he leaned back, and decided to humour Moran. "Sweet dreams, to both of you," Sherlock's face fell into an icy glare as Moran didn't let it go to his head, for once. Sebastian had no idea what Sherlock meant, but when his finger looped around that lovely and only friend of his, he didn't care. All he cared about was how it felt to squeeze his finger around the trigger…

A few people screamed at the sound of a gunshot and Sherlock simply caught John from falling to the floor and quickly he deduced Moran's intentions, and he had to admit, it was clever, and this time, it would work. John groaned at the pain in his shoulder as he tried to stay awake.

Sherlock had tears instantly as he tried to keep John awake and alive as Sebastian was nowhere to be seen. People started crowding the area as Janine and Mary were in the front somewhere. But Mycroft was there first, and this time, he wasn't late for a big event. For once.

Sherlock could barely speak as John started to close his eyes and he was mumbling something incoherent. Sherlock tried to get him to stay awake, but it wasn't working as he felt Mycroft's hand to his shoulder. And suddenly he snapped, "Janine, Mary, get the idiots from the doors, they need to get through."

And they were confused at first, but they realized as they started parting the crowd and EMTs ran through the double doors of the school. Sherlock let them take John from him and Mycroft let Sherlock follow them into the back of that vehicle, as he never left John's side.

Sherlock was tucked onto the bench beside John's gurney, and he simply watched and silently cried, trying to wrap his head around this. He tried to make sure he kept his eyes on John, so he had to blink away tears every few seconds, but it was worth it.

He could see John, and as long as John was alive, this would pass, they would heal. _Please don't die, not now. Not when I need you…_

* * *

Mycroft sprinted to his own car, and slipped through the door, shoving the key in the ignition and swiftly following the emergency vehicle to the hospital. He needed to be there, as obviously, he was going to have to calm Sherlock once they actually got there.

He couldn't believe Moran had actually tried to pull this off. But he hadn't, because as soon as Sherlock had texted Mycroft, he had called a few of his own men, and Moran would be dealt with. As for the Moriarty kid, no one but Sherlock and John knew about him.

Mycroft was oblivious to the fact that Jim could simply put someone else on the boys. Sebastian was a temporary piece, a pawn. This was going to play out as he wanted, and they were all going to pay. Jim wasn't ever sure what for, but he knew they all had some unspeakable things they've done.

And so there was Mycroft, Sherlock and John, trying to get somewhere safe, and trying to cope with what's happened…

* * *

After the shot had been heard, Moran tried running, but Janine had caught on his sleeve and she was confused as someone else had taken him, someone weird and shady. But she let them, knowing she had other things to get to, and she didn't care if Sebastian died. Mary had pulled her along and they had helped Sherlock get John out of the building. But now what were they to do?

The teachers had dismissed everyone from the school, and they all left scared that if they didn't what happened to John would happen to them. It was the dumbest idea, but they left. The school was closed for that night, and possibly the rest of the week. They still didn't know as the last of everyone left.

Janine stayed over with Mary that night, not wanting to go through the guilt alone. The _only_ upside they could think of was that now John and Sherlock could realize they need each other, and so much more than a stupid girlfriend who would never be able to stay by their side forever.

That was their reason for this, was so John and Sherlock would be together, _and_ happy. Whether it be boyfriends or brothers…

* * *

Sherlock was sure his leg was about to fall off and his eyes were red as he had just now managed to stop the heavy flow of tears. He just couldn't help but feel as though this was all his fault. Moran had started bullying him after all, and then John was dragged into this.

So the nervous shaking of his leg had begun and Mycroft knew that uneasiness. This had happened once while they were younger as well. Sherlock had only been seven when John had fallen and hit his head.

Mycroft had tried telling him it wasn't his fault, yet he always believed it was. Even when John had climbed up on that rock on his own, Sherlock still blamed himself for letting his friend get hurt. But this time, there was something different about it.

There was something in Sherlock's eyes that told him this was worse. And it was, but as in, there was something new there, and it was going to give Sherlock more hurt than he could deal with at the moment. Mycroft sighed as the doctor had walked out three hours later, requesting that Sherlock and Sherlock only walk back there with her.

Sherlock blinked at the forming tears as she held him by the elbow. "I know, I know. Spare me the mushy feely crap and give the details of his injury and the recovery," Sherlock demanded.

"Actually…"

* * *

**I'm mean... reviews?**


	7. Broken

Seven: Broken

Sherlock stood and watched the doctor try to explain this without boring him. And he was amused as she was flustered. He kept staring at her, intensely and it was making her nervous. "Okay, stop staring at me like that!" she demanded.

He chuckled, "Like what?" and she gave up, letting him do it anyway.

"Anyway, he actually recovered well, and he's awake now. Sorta, but he was asking for you," she smiled as his eyes widened and he rushed to open the door. "Slowly now," she opened it for him the rest of the way, and Sherlock stepped inside, as she left them alone. She had already warned Sherlock about John's condition, as he had ordered her to.

Sherlock still couldn't help the small tears pricking at his eyes as he stepped closer. "Sherlock?" John sounded delighted, but still tired.

"John," Sherlock sighed and grabbed a chair as he sat by John's bed. He tried to find the things to say, but he couldn't as John simply took his hand and smiled sadly and weakly. But Sherlock managed to whisper, "I'm so sorry," and John just squeezed his hand lightly in reassurance.

All his composure he had built up while speaking with John's doctor left as he sobbed into John's side on the sheets of the bed. "Sherlock," John says quietly enough that it was just above a whisper, "none of this is your fault," he moved his hand to card his fingers through Sherlock's hair.

"No," Sherlock suddenly popped up, "it is my fault, am I the only who can see that?" he stood over John and his tears hit John's cheeks as he simply let his own slide. He hadn't cried since he was younger, and Sherlock had never even seen that. So when he saw John's cheeks get pink and he heard a sniffle, his own slowed. "John?"

He stared as John tried to look away, but he couldn't. "Sherlock, I've never," he lets it fade off, and Sherlock nods, sitting down and simply understanding as he grabbed John's hand again in his own. "I'm sick and tired, and I just want to fall asleep and never wake up," he whispered as Sherlock put his head back down to John's side.

"What would I do, then?" he asked quietly.

"You would fucking live, Sherlock. You wouldn't have to worry about Sebastian because I wouldn't be there to make him think those things about you and he would leave you alone…" he could barely get the last three words out as his lips quivered and he gave up on speaking.

Sherlock was surprised to hear that John thought he was to blame, and what he did next surprised both yet neither of them. "Move," he ordered as John wriggled the best he could to the side of the bed and Sherlock, despite the wires and the injury, climbed in with him.

He tucked John's head under his chin, and told him to sleep. "I won't leave, I promise," he nodded and assured as John did his best to cuddle into his friend and fall into a dreamless sleep…

It was minutes after Sherlock had fallen into a dream as well that Mycroft walked in. He sighed, and dropped Sherlock's clothes on the chair he had used. And instead of bothering his sleeping brother and his friend, he pulled out a pen and a small pad of paper and wrote a note to his youngest and dearest brother.

He then walked out and hoped Sherlock would change soon, his clothes have blood on them, and though it's not much, it'd still be questionable. That reminds him, he should probably see if the school has their situation sorted out yet. If they're going to let students back in for the duration of next week or not. Time to go to work, while everyone else rests…

Ugh.

* * *

John woke and he was alone, "Sh'lock?" he mumbled as he heard something flush in the bathroom in his room. He sighed, Sherlock was still here.

Sherlock took one last good look at the note: _Moran is taken care of. So, for the time being, take care of yourself and get cleaned up- Mycroft _Pfft… and he threw the note in the trash bin as he walked out of the bathroom and John was already awake.

"John," he smiled and stole back his chair. John simply took Sherlock's hand in his own again as he attempted a smile. He couldn't say a thing, he didn't know what to say, honestly. It was as if he was thinking about everything yet nothing.

Is this what it felt like being in Sherlock's mind? Knowing so much you have no idea how to spout it out, so you end up saying it all. Much like this, "Mary left me because she thinks I like you, love you. And with the evidence she gave me, I don't know. And then I almost leave you, I almost die and I feel terrible because I still don't know. I know I've always loved you like family, but I never knew exactly which part of the family. Sherlock, I'm sorry for being so stupid," he admitted in a speed that he was left breathless after.

Sherlock just squeezed John's hand as he sat, actually shocked to hear John's voice say those things. To see his lips form the words he had always knew, but never spoke. He shook his head slowly. "You know what's funny? Janine did the same thing. And that was what I wanted to tell you about," he spoke slowly, and it was very unlike himself.

But he continued, "John, they got with us because we were lonely, and then they realized we were lonely because we have everything right in front of us, and we didn't know it." He chuckled, "A little funny how the normal people figured out something before I did." He squeezed John's hand a little tighter before trying to let go, saying, "But I don't think you-"

"You fucking dumbsnot." Sherlock furrowed his brow at that and he looked to his friend as John's grip tightened and he held Sherlock's hand as if it was the last thing he might do. "I know it wasn't the most solid of confessions, but you better cherish it, because I rarely ever open up to people. And I certainly don't cry in front of them…." and that was when Sherlock realized that John was completely vulnerable like this, and with that soldier complex from his father, this was torture.

"So, what… I'm special?" Sherlock asked sincerely as John smiled.

"You were special before I ever met you. But I guess so, yeah," he admitted and Sherlock blushed. He didn't smile, he didn't blink. It was almost as if he was shocked into the pink slowly creeping over his cheekbones and John's eyes widened a bit.

It wasn't just the words John had come out with, it was the meaning of them. They seemed so pointless to someone who hadn't lived with John for practically their whole life. But John almost never lets himself say these things, and that was what made Sherlock realize everything.

He was a mountain just now seeing the sunlight under his snowy ice caps. It was warming him and of course he has paths now that someone had to explore. And John would be his hiker, walking around until he found something new, reveling in it, and finding more.

"Does this blasted place have a pencil and paper or something?" he asked as he let go of John's hand to look around. He opened the drawer to the little table beside John's bed and was pleased as there was a notepad and a pen.

He quickly scribbled down something and when he was finished John wanted to see it. But Sherlock instead put it face down at John's feet. "When you can sit up properly, you'll see it," he promised as John wondered what could be written on that paper.

Of course, he tried once now, but obviously so, he couldn't sit up and Sherlock let him try. When he gave up, Sherlock kissed his brow and sat again. He smiled at the yellow paper and would grin when John read it. For now, he would deal with it at the foot of his bed.

John simply wondered what could be written there and he would bug Sherlock, but who wants to ruin the moment when Sherlock had kissed his brow? John blushed lightly but Mycroft walked in.

"I see you found my note and your clothes," Mycroft pointed out as he leaned against his unused umbrella.

"Yes, thank you. Now what do you want?" Sherlock asked, irritated.

"Can I not just check up on you? And John? He did just get shot," the elder Holmes loved being obvious.

Sherlock sighed, maybe this once his brother was truly just checking upon the health of someone. "By the way, what happened with Sebastian Moran?" John tensed and Sherlock rubbed his thumb over John's fingers. _Sh, John. It's okay now… _

"Glad you asked, really. There were no questions asked as I declared it to be that way, and he's been dealt with properly, for a boy his age," Mycroft said and Sherlock smiled. "Sherlock, do please stay out of trouble, from now on," Mycroft asked of his little brother.

"I expect I will," Sherlock nodded, not mentioning that Jim was still out there. And Sherlock only needed a glance on that boy to know he was trouble. Very fun trouble, but conflict all the same. He was to say something, but Sherlock then looked to John's eyes and decided he wouldn't say what he was going to. He simply shut his mouth and smiled as John reflected it.

"So, when can I go back to school?" John asked, and Mycroft stopped in his trek out the door again.

"The week after next, if you feel up to it. As a matter of fact, everyone is going back then. You know, Sebastian shooting you and all. Honestly, that really was a stupid idea. Especially when you have… never mind, anyway. I have work to do," and he disappeared as John again wondered what was unsaid.

Maybe he'll never find out. He hated that thought, but at least he had Sherlock here. Speaking of Sherlock, "Come here," he scooted over again and Sherlock smiled as he climbed in again, careful of everything, as last time.

"I hope you know, there's still trouble ahead," Sherlock told him as he settled and John shrugged the best he could.

"If you're there, I don't care," he admitted and tried to get comfortable as he settled on Sherlock's chest. The brunette simply let John move about and try to find the best position he could lie in without hurting himself.

The blond was finally situated as Sherlock laid on his side, and John had an arm under and brought back over, draped over his hips, and he snuggled into John's hair. It was so cute and John smelled so good. He almost fell asleep, but John's mum and his parents walked in.

He gave up, simply laying there and not moving at all as everyone greeted and made sure John was okay. Mrs. Watson was so frazzled, Sherlock swore her hair was frizzy and it was hilariously interesting. His parent simply assessed the boys' position and decided to come back later.

But John's mum stayed and grabbed the chair Sherlock had used. With John facing her, yet buried in Sherlock, she could hear him better as he explained a lot. Not all of it, but most of it as he didn't want to tell her about Moriarty. Sherlock hadn't told anyone, so John would continue that pattern. He obeyed Sherlock's silent orders, even though they had never been officially given by a look.

John wondered if his mum noticed the paper at his feet, and Sherlock smiled when she actually mentioned it. He finally spoke in the long silence he had held, "It's a note. Don't read it aloud, John can't hear it yet," Sherlock explained and John rolled his eyes as she picked up the pad.

She read the words, and she instantly grinned. "Oh, John, it's so sweet," she looked to them and he now hated Sherlock for not letting him read it.

"It probably is, but the arse won't let me read it. Not until I can sit up properly," he mocked Sherlock, but Sherlock didn't care as he smiled and Mrs. Watson placed the pad in the same position it had been in before. Sherlock went back to cuddling into John as Mrs. Watson finally left them alone and he was so relaxed he almost fell asleep again…

* * *

**Just fluffy stuffs... getting ready for the next chapter and the fun of going back to school... but, reviews?**


	8. Pieces

**Author's Apology: Hey guys, sorry it took a few days, but I finally got around to editing and publishing the new chapter... I hope you enjoy it, R&Rs are welcome!**

* * *

Eight: Pieces

Finally, by Thursday, John could sit up, he could eat on his own and he could slightly properly cuddle with Sherlock. And all the while he had wondered why Sherlock hadn't tried something. (Other than cuddling up by his side.) He simply kept their confusing relationship at a friend's status, he didn't go any further.

That was when John started thinking maybe he doesn't return the feelings. Then why would he cuddle with John? why would he even stay here? Surely brothers and friends don't do that. _Or maybe_, John smiled at this strange thought, _maybe Sherlock is just as confused as I am…_

But anyway, enough about that. Since John could sit up, while Sherlock was in the bathroom, he sat up and finally he had that note pad in his hands. As Sherlock was walking out, he read the five lines carefully.

_My Dearest John:_

_The blue of your eyes_

_The warmth of the sun_

_Tell me loved one,_

_When a difference arises… - Sherlock_

John grinned and Sherlock stopped to see what he would say. But then John had to ponder why would Sherlock think and write this, and not try to kiss him? John's thought about kissing Sherlock, but he wasn't always sure. He was waiting for Sherlock to want the same thing, to go for it first.

And not seeing that Sherlock had walked back out, he tore that paper from the pad and folded it twice. Then he did see Sherlock standing there, smirking as his eyes shown with admiration for the words he had written for his friend. John held his arms open so Sherlock would come closer. He did.

"I wasn't sure if you would like it," Sherlock admitted as he sat upon the edge of the bed. "I'm rubbish at poetry," he smiled as John hugged him anyway, keeping him close as he nuzzled into Sherlock's neck and shoulder.

"I wouldn't say that," he nuzzled Sherlock's chest as his head dipped down when he spoke. Sherlock accepted, wrapping his arms around John's shoulders lightly. "But I doubt my eyes are that pretty," he looked up and held to Sherlock's waist as Sherlock scooted closer, still on his knees, but right beside his friend.

Sherlock looked into said eyes and the dark swirls around the light blue was just breathtaking. "I wouldn't say that," he smiled and John rolled the beautiful blue that made Sherlock's butterflies flutter. He laid back down, using Sherlock's lap as a pillow, even though there was one right above Sherlock's knees. "Seriously, though, John," he stroked the getting longer hair from John's forehead.

"Every part of you is beautiful," Sherlock said and John blushed. "By the way, John?" John hummed and Sherlock took that as a cue to continue, "What are we doing?"

John's eyes flew open and he stared, "What do you mean?" had he done something to possibly make Sherlock want to leave? Please that answer be no.

"I mean, friends don't do this, and neither do brothers, so what are _we_ doing?" he asked again, not exactly sure if John could answer such a question. Not even he could answer it.

"Oh," John sighed. "Honestly, I don't know. We're kinda past the friend zone, yeah?" John smiled up at his… friend? Yes, if anything, Sherlock was still John's friend.

Sherlock nodded as he asked, "So what do we do to completely step across the threshold of our relationship becoming romantic or whatever?" he asked sweetly as he kept running his fingers through John's short hair. "In other words, when can you be mine?"

"I am yours, but I guess that would be, um... with a kiss?" John seemed confused.

"Oh, then it can wait," Sherlock nodded as he just kept doing what he was doing and John was almost asleep again.

"Why, though?" John had to ask.

"Because I don't want this to be only because we almost lost each other, so now we're trying to hang on by any means, you know? No offense, but I don't know if this is just because you got hurt, or if it's actually the fact that we want to be with each other," Sherlock explained and John nodded.

"But even if we don't become boyfriends, you're still my best friend, right?" John curiously asked.

"Definitely," Sherlock assured. John nuzzled into his lap, and loved this all that much more. Even though they both knew this wasn't temporary, John knew what Sherlock was getting at. Sometimes when a friend is on the brink of death, you say things you normally wouldn't, trying to keep them around. It makes no sense, but people do it."We go back to school on Monday," Sherlock smiled and John rolled his eyes, almost frowning.

"I know, and I really don't want to," John admitted.

"Neither do I," Sherlock said. "I just want to stay here. Well, not here, maybe at my place, in my bed," he shrugged, "but still. I don't want to have to deal with that while I try to figure you out," and John blushed again. Sherlock was so sweet when he wanted to be.

"I just don't want to be around Mary. I don't know if it'll be awkward." John didn't know why, but he felt that Mary would be at least a little mad at him.

He did, after all, do what she said. He definitely liked Sherlock. Loved him, possibly, but it was a definite yes to a certain question if Sherlock wants to ask it. And Sherlock was thinking about this question as well, but he didn't know how to ask. He really didn't. So he did his best, "John," 'Hmm' "Do you… do you want to be my boy..friend?" he asked and John's eyes widened.

John had just been thinking about that question, and then Sherlock asked it. Sherlock looked to John for an answer and he gave a nod, then one word, "Always," and Sherlock took that as a sweetened yes. John sat up and even though it hurt a bit, he wrapped his arms fully around Sherlock's waist as Sherlock held John close.

"I mean it, though. I'm not kissing you while we're here," Sherlock declared. He'd wait until John was healed, and they could be alone, completely.

"I know," John knew. "But it's fine, it's all fine," he admitted and buried his face in Sherlock's neck. "So, this is official, then?" John asked as he squeezed a bit tighter.

"Yes," Sherlock said simply before placing a kiss to John's temple and John smiled.

"You leave me and I kick you," John threatened.

"Already being abusive," Sherlock joked as John chuckled.

"Shut up, Sherlock," but he kept chuckling and it turned to giggling when Sherlock's hand was on his hip in a certain spot. "Stop it, don't touch me there," he swatted at Sherlock's hand.

"What? Here?" he ran his fingertips over it like a feather and John giggled. Sherlock smiled as he moved to a different position, laying his head in John's lap. John sat cross-legged as Sherlock had his shoulders on his knees and John's fingers were leafing through Sherlock's curls. He pulled one out as it recoiled to his forehead.

He smiled and kept doing it until Sherlock told him to stop. "It feels weird, "he admitted and John nodded. Okay…

* * *

Finally! John drug Sherlock up the stairs to his room and Sherlock plopped down on John's bed and John sat beside him. "I hated that stupid hospital," as he grabbed Sherlock's hand, lacing their fingers together and John loved the feeling of Sherlock's hand in his own.

"I could tell," Sherlock laughed as John leaned on his shoulder. "But you need a good night's sleep, as you have school tomorrow," he nodded. "We both do."

"That's why you're here, isn't it?" he nudged Sherlock's arm and smiled slightly up at him. Sherlock nodded as John leaned into Sherlock's chest. And then suddenly Sherlock was grabbed by his shoulders and laying on top of John.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked as he looked down on his boyfriend.

"What I want," John said and Sherlock rolled his eyes playfully.

"You seem pretty strong for someone who just healed from being shot in the shoulder," he lifted John's shirt and looked to pink tissue with the scar that was already forming around the still healing wound from surgery. John had his stitches removed two days earlier, and he was healing well. He should be back to normal in about three more days.

Good, Sherlock wanted to spend time with John the way he used to. Climbing trees, getting into fake fist fights, and running about London as if it was their city. John's voice brought him from his thoughts, "Yes, well, I've always healed pretty fast," he admitted. "You should know that," Sherlock smiled as he remembered the one time John was an idiot and had hit his head climbing a rock, trying to prove he was brave.

And he nodded, "Yeah, I do know that. But what I don't know, is what you want," he remembered and John grinned.

But he wanted something so innocent, "Could you cuddle with me?" he held his arms open and Sherlock sighed, but smiling, he laid down on John's chest. Sherlock's fingers tapped at John's chest, and John took those fingers in between his own. Sherlock smiled as he loved the feeling of John's hand on his own…

Sherlock sat upright, throwing John's hand from his own and pressing both of his on John's chest, making sure he could breathe. John woke instantly, realizing they had fallen asleep and Sherlock was above him, breathing heavily. "Sherlock?"

Sherlock suddenly dropped, grabbed at John's shirt and he hugged his arms around John's waist and started squeezing. "Sherlock, what's wrong?" John demanded.

"Don't leave me," he whispered as John understood what had happened.

"Why would I do such a thing?" he asked as he lifted Sherlock's chin so his boyfriend was looking at him. Sherlock shrugged and John rolled his eyes halfway, expressing his playful annoyance. Then he simply placed a kiss to Sherlock's forehead.

o0o

That morning was sadly but finally here and John didn't want to move from the curled position he had taken into Sherlock's side. But Sherlock woke mumbling something John couldn't hear and he looked up, afraid Sherlock would be staring down at him.

He wasn't, he was yawning and John thought the little noise he made afterwards was just, "Adorable," he teased.

"What?" Sherlock was clueless.

"You," John tapped his finger to Sherlock's nose as he sat up, grumbling about having to get up. But Sherlock followed, changing into the clothes Mycroft had given him. John loved that purple on Sherlock's skin. But he quit staring as Sherlock slipped the shirt over Sherlock's shoulders.

He blushed like hell when Sherlock had caught him staring. He simply smiled and finished buttoning his shirt as John dressed as well. And Sherlock couldn't help but notice the red pants John was sporting. He grinned as John's trousers slipped over them.

And soon enough, they had a small breakfast, and were out the door to John's mum's car. She always drove John to school, and occasionally Sherlock. She smiled when she saw John blush at the fact that Sherlock had called him cute.

She was right, and she loved being right as John didn't take the passenger seat and instead sat in the back, with Sherlock. He played it off, saying he liked talking to Sherlock, and they did talk, but Mrs. Watson always caught the cutest of things between them.

When they were at school, she gave John a big kiss to his cheek and Sherlock tried to walk away when she grabbed his arm, "Where are you going? Come here, Sherlock," and she did the same thing she had done to John.

John laughed as he scowled and simply walked through the doors and left John to his mum. "Have a good day, Mum," he gave her a two finger salute as he followed Sherlock into the building. And then there was Sherlock, with Janine.

But as soon as John approached, she left. "What was that about?" John asked as he took Sherlock's hand in his own.

"She apologized, and Mary's about to do the same," he nodded and she was right beside John, staring at him.

"Holy shit," he jumped into Sherlock's side.

Mary laughed as she started her own apology. She had said she was sorry for everything that happened that night, and she missed him, but he looked happy with Sherlock. He questioned why she felt sorry, "Because I left you, and then you get shot. That's not exactly the best terms to leave someone on, is it?" she asked and smiled sadly.

"It's fine, would have been worse if it had happened before," he admitted and Mary nodded, simply walking away now. She couldn't stand the thought of John dying and she was afraid of that happening that night. She had cried her eyes out waiting for someone to text her or call her and say he was okay.

John looked to Sherlock and smiled. But Sherlock wasn't smiling back, as there was someone right there…

* * *

**Again, sorry it took longer with the update. But, reviews?**


	9. Strange

Nine: Strange

"Sherl…?" he couldn't even finish as he jumped a few centimetres from the floor when he followed Sherlock's icy gaze. "Jim?! What the hell?" he looked to Sherlock and he shrugged, John just looked back to Jim as he spoke.

"Actually the original phrasing for that was 'What in Hell,' then it was 'What in the Hell,' now it's just that, 'What the hell?' Doesn't matter any way, but," he shrugged. John rolled his eyes. "I don't think we ever properly met. Not without a fight breaking out before or afterwards, anyway," he held his hand out and Sherlock stiffened as John simply glared at that stupid gesture.

Jim lowered his hand. "I don't like people," Sherlock said and tried to pull John off to class as Jim stopped him. It was meant to be said so Jim would leave.

But, "You like John," he pointed to their linked fingers and Sherlock shook his head as his jaw tightened.

"First of all, John isn't 'people,' and second," he smirked a bit as he said, "I don't like him," he shook his head slightly. John couldn't believe what he had just heard. Did Sherlock really just say that?

Jim smiled, "Oh, I see! Very clever, even when it comes to him. I'm going to like this game. So many pawns to play with and throw away," he applauded to himself as the bell rang. "Well, I'll be seeing you two later," and he simply walked away.

John dropped Sherlock's hand and started to walk away as if he wasn't going to turn around, because he wasn't. He was halfway down the hall to his first class as Sherlock realized what John had thought of what Sherlock had said to Jim. But then John did turn around, and Sherlock was inches away from him.

"Do you like me, Sherlock? Really?" he asked and Sherlock replied with a short and quiet 'No.' John was hurt but he kept going, "Do you even want me?" another no, then what the hell? "Would you even care if I left?" John almost shouted as the people in the halls grew thinner, and some stopped to stare. Another quiet no. "Then why are you even…"

And he was cut off by Sherlock grabbing both of his hands, "I _don't_ like you, I _love_ you. I _don't_ want you, I _need_ you, and if you left, I wouldn't _care_, I would _die_…" and John's eyes widened at how stupid he had been.

"I feel so stupid," he admitted as he knew he only had a few minutes to get to class now.

"Stupidity isn't a feeling," Sherlock smiled as John playfully hit him. "We have three minutes," he pointed out as John nodded. "Walk me to class?" he asked as he laced his fingers through John's. John nodded, smiling and blushing as he walked Sherlock to his first period. And eventually off to his own.

But not before he hugged Sherlock tightly, saying to him, "I hope you know, I love you, too," and he gave Sherlock a soft kiss to his cheek as he then turned walked to his own class.

"What's with the pink?" Mary asked, smiling as he sat down and right after, the bell rang to finalize class starting. _Good, not late… _He sighed in relief as Mary's question made his face red.

John noticed his face was burning and he admitted, "I just got the best confession of love that could have ever been given," and Mary giggled softly as the professor started the class. Genetics… yay.

"Really?" she whispered. "Did you kiss him?" she asked and John realized, he hadn't. Not on the lips, anyway. But, as he knew that was what Mary meant, he shook his head.

"Actually, no," he felt tingly and fuzzy as if Sherlock had kissed him, but nothing had happened but words and a kiss to the cheek. And he told her as much as she was shocked, John felt that from just Sherlock's words?

"Wow," her eyes sparkled as she knew she hadn't hurt John for nothing. Actually, the complete opposite of nothing, and she hadn't really hurt him in the end. But she still felt guilty. If only they could have fallen in love without a bullet to John's shoulder, or her breaking up with him.

She sighed as she finally put her pencil to paper and joined John in notes. But they both loved this particular professor. He always made things more interesting. Professor Lestrade… John will never forget this professor…

* * *

"Jesus Christ, that was boring," John complained as he stood from his last chair and met Sherlock in the hallway.

"I heard that," as their hands met again. John hummed in confusion, then mumbled in embarrassment as he knew what Sherlock was talking about. "Don't mumble, it's very unattractive," Sherlock sweetly scolded and John smiled, but it was a smile that said that he thought Sherlock was strange.

"And I'm attractive?" John asked, not exactly knowing what else to say.

"No, you're drop dead gorgeous," Sherlock teased as John blushed and squeezed Sherlock's hand lightly. "By the way, and I know you're wondering, I never said any of these things to Janine."

"What's that got to do with anything?" John asked, truly curious. Sherlock squeezed back as he answered.

"I just wanted you to know that you're, no offense to her, but you're more important than she was. Well, in the romantic sense, anyway," and John blushed again at that.

"Since when were you such a sap?" John nudged and teased.

"Since you taught me how to be," Sherlock smiled back and John simply shook his head in playful disbelief. Then it was to John's flat, to study for an exam on Friday. Sherlock's parents got texted and John's mum didn't care, as long as she knew John and Sherlock wouldn't be… you know. ;P

They had slipped in the car as John was surprised when his mum asked, "Was the first kiss romantic?" as they drove away from the school, towards home.

"I'm sorry?" John asked to hear that again.

"I asked if the first kiss was romantic. Was it?" and John's eyes almost popped out of his head.

"I have no ide-"

"Don't pretend I don't know, John," she smiled. "It's cute, honestly. So," she looked to him through the mirror "was it?" she asked as Sherlock and John looked to each other and grinned.

"There hasn't been one," Sherlock admitted for John.

"Wait, what, really?!" she smiled wider as she looked back to the road.

"Yup," and then it was onto 'How not?' And then just more embarrassing things about their relationship that Sherlock didn't mind spouting off, but John could have passed for a cherry as they finally finished.

* * *

Jim grinned as he had heard that first question from John's mum before they left the school parking lot. _So they are together… perfect._ "Jim!" she shouted and he winced. He hated normal people, and his mother especially.

His father was a genius, and even his brother was a genius, but her? She was so ordinary it hurt him to even hear her. She grabbed his shoulder and wheeled him around, "C'mon, let's go home!" she offered as he rolled his eyes and simply followed, not saying a word as he slipped in the passenger seat.

He threw his things to the floor at his feet as he drug a belt over his shoulders and the car purred to life. "Where is Father?" he simply asked.

She started backing away, "Work, James. You should know this," she glanced to him as she switched gears and was away from the school in minutes. Work… He was almost always working.

"If he's at work, then why did _you_ bother picking me up? Why didn't I just ride the bus?" he asked, resenting even talking to his mum.

"Because I'm your mother, and because despite the way you like to treat me, I do love you," she looked to him briefly as his bored stare and tone met her.

"You may love me all you wish, but you're boring and ordinary. You have no idea how my mind works, and you'll never know. That is all, Mother," and he looked out the window beside him as she almost had tears in her light brown eyes.

She looked back to the road. _Ordinary, that's all I am to you? When will you see that 'ordinary' people are who you need around the most? I may resent it, but when your downfall comes, I will be there to pick you up. _

"I'm sorry you feel that way, James," she nodded as she kept her focus on the road, and he didn't respond as they rode home in silence. It wasn't always like this, though.

Oh no, he used to be so energetic, telling her everything. He would come up with ideas, and he would ask the strangest of questions. But once he hit middle school, he started pushing away 'ordinary' people, and he hung around his brother and father, disregarding his mother and everyone else.

She had noticed it, and once he hit high school, he started saying things like that. That she wasn't good enough and that she would never understand him. Well, she wouldn't if he would never let her. If only he would open up like he used to, she could help him. Understand him. But no, he was a nut that would never let go of his shell.

She hoped someone would soon come around and make him open up to her, or at least to someone important. Someone 'ordinary' so that maybe he'll appreciate them more, and possibly her, too. Not even his father was like this, she had no idea where her sons got it from.

But it needed to disappear from Jim. She was not having a repeat of his elder brother. _Oh, maybe that's why he's trying to be like this... _

They were through the door when she asked, "Jim?" he turned to her, bored and a bit peeved. "He's gone, and you should stop idolizing him. He failed in the way he lived, so why would you repeat his actions?"

Knowing who she meant, he simply scowled at her, wondering how to speak to her. "He may have failed, but that's my difference from him. I will not fail, I will be successful instead of… _that_!" he spat, and was up the stairs before she could go after him.

This time, she did let tears fall, "I'm sorry," she whispered after him as a dramatic slam filled the house and she heard him stomp around a few moments before it simply stopped. She couldn't stand on her own two feet anymore, she had to sit, or lie down or something.

She slipped onto the couch, letting her head fall into her hands as tears hit the carpet in between her feet. _When will this stop? Why won't he just realize he needs me just as much as anyone else? _She sighed through more tears, _He may never realize it…_

* * *

Sherlock took John's hand as John dragged him up the stairs and away from his mother, who had been embarrassing them by asking so many unneeded questions. It was obvious she thought they were cute, and it was unnerving. John didn't like having everyone in his relationships.

_He_ was dating Sherlock, not his mum or his sister or his friends. _Him_, and that was why he hated questions like the ones his mum was asking. "Oh, John! You're face is so cute when you're blushing!" Sherlock poked his cheek and John swatted at his hand.

"Shut up, Sherlock," he threatened as Sherlock simply stuck his tongue out at his boyfriend. "Stop that or I'll have to kiss you!" he threatened. Then he realized that was kind of pointless. Seeing how he would probably kiss Sherlock at some point anyway.

"Would you now?" Sherlock teased. John rolled his eyes as Sherlock got closer, and he just crossed his arms over his chest.

"Stop," John demanded.

"But you were the one to suggest it," Sherlock pointed out. John turned around and huffed as Sherlock just wrapped his arms around John's waist. "Stop being so grumpy," Sherlock nibbled at his ear and John shivered.

"Okay, seriously, stop before something happens…" he turned around and Sherlock bent lower, pressing their foreheads together.

"Stop being grumpy," he proposed, pressing a kiss to John's nose.

"I don't know," he said, pretending to still me angry, "I don't think I can be convinced with just words," he said with a slight smirk and Sherlock grinned…

* * *

**Torture yet? Haha! Reviews? **


	10. Dreams

Ten: Dreams

Sherlock gripped John's hips tighter as he brought him closer and their breaths became one. "John," he smirked as John smiled.

"Sherlock?" he quirked a brow as Sherlock just chuckled and ghosted his lips over John's, and John rolled onto his toes, pressing their lips together. Finally… Sherlock's lips were so soft and almost too fluffy for him to take in. But he moaned quietly as Sherlock pressed back, making the same noise John had let out.

John's lips were small, but don't underestimate the power they have. Sherlock learned this the hard way as he was rooted to the spot, and for once, he had no idea what to do. John smiled as he wrapped his arms around Sherlock's neck and dug his fingers into Sherlock's curls. Sherlock's breath left him as he noticed the same had happened to John just a few moments before.

Sherlock just let John do whatever as he felt his lips shift then he felt teeth on his bottom lips, and he was surprised, but it felt so good. John didn't bite him, though. Just simply nibbled and went back to pressing his lips to Sherlock's.

Sherlock melted into John's touch and lips as his tongue betrayed him by flicking across John's lips. But before they could do anything else, they needed air. John kept his arms around Sherlock's neck as he breathed heavily on it.

Sherlock shivered at John's breath on his neck. And just when they were about to go for more, John's mum walked in. "John?..."

And they both looked to her as John stuttered, "M-mum? What do you need?" and he disconnected from his boyfriend.

"I wanted to know if Sherlock was going to eat tonight?" she asked as they both blinked and she shuffled into the room, blushing a bit as she realized what had just happened.

Sherlock nodded, "I haven't in a while, perhaps I should tonight," and she smiled. "Thank you," she grinned.

"Romantic?" she asked as their eyes widened. "Oh, don't pretend you weren't just snogging in here," she playfully wiggled a finger at them and tsked. "Oh well, I'll call you down when dinner is ready," and she closed the door softly behind her.

"Your mum's not as stupid as others, I will admit," Sherlock said as John latched onto his shoulders again.

"Just shut up," he demanded.

"You tell me to do that a lot," Sherlock teased as John didn't say anything. He simply tripped Sherlock into falling and they both landed on the bed, John under Sherlock. "I'm going to kiss you again," Sherlock warned as John shrugged and grinned.

"I would like that," John admitted as Sherlock lowered his head and his curls brushed over John's forehead. John looked expectantly at Sherlock with one brow raised as their lips settled together again. John hummed in acceptance as Sherlock's tongue ran across his lips again.

And this time, without interruption, John let Sherlock invade his mouth. He fought for dominance as he wasn't letting Sherlock have all the fun. And before they knew it, Sherlock's groin was accidently rubbing against John's and they both moaned into each other.

Sherlock discovered how good that felt, and this time he did it on purpose. John moaned again and pushed him off by the shoulders. "Sherlock, we can't," and at first Sherlock was confused as to what he meant.

But then he realized what he had been doing, and he instantly felt embarrassed. "Sorry, I just… it felt good," he admitted.

"It does, but Mum will hear us, and we only just had our first kiss," he pointed out and Sherlock nodded. Right, slower.

"Speaking of kisses, can we at least go back to that?" he asked as John sat up and Sherlock lightly straddled him upon the edge of the bed.

"Of course," he agreed as Sherlock kissed him again, lightly. He made sure nothing went further than this. The erection he had built up was slowly fading, as he realized he couldn't go any further than this. And he couldn't feel John under him anymore, either.

Okay, he can keep this up. And when Sherlock invited John in, they made sure none of the kisses became desperate. Just loving, slow, and understanding. But that was once again, all ruined when they needed air.

But John decided this was enough before he _really _couldn't hold himself back. "We should probably do our homework," he suggested. Sherlock sighed through his nose.

"I suppose so, yes," he agreed and an hour later Mrs. Watson yelled up the stairs, afraid of walking in on a moment. It was best to just ruin it a bit, not walk in on it.

They grinned at each other at that realization, and John was down the stairs first. "Hi, Mum. Mmm, that smells fantastic," he complimented and she blushed.

"It's just soup, dear," as she set down three bowls.

"Still," he shrugged as Sherlock stole the chair beside John, as he always does. John loved that they've been to each other's places enough to claim a spot at the table. Mrs. Watson could see that as well as she sat down herself and picked the spoon.

But it was still hot, so they were all careful about eating it. It was still delicious. There was almost fifteen minutes of silence before John's mum broke it, "So, John, are you planning to still join the Army?" his mum asked as he almost finished his soup.

Sherlock looked to him expectantly as John couldn't help but to feel a bit guilty as he hadn't exactly thought about it. It had always been official, he was going to join the Army, but now he didn't really know. He had Sherlock now, and he didn't quite know if he wanted to leave that behind for about four or five years to go fight in a war and probably get shot. Or possibly just die…

"I… honestly, I don't know anymore," it was the truth. He hated the truth sometimes.

"You should," Sherlock suggested. John looked to Sherlock with wide eyes and his mouth almost dropped open.

"And leave you here, alone? I don't think so," he dropped the spoon in his bowl and looked to Sherlock with a glare that said he was in no way leaving Sherlock alone. He couldn't stand the thought of something happening and he wasn't there.

"I'll be fine, as long as you don't die. Just make sure you come home. I one piece too, please," he smiled encouragingly as he went back to finishing his own soup. Sherlock knew that with every word he was losing John, but he didn't care as long as John was happy.

Mrs. Watson smiled at that. "Listen to him, John. It's been your dream since you were five. Ever since your father…" and she went back to staring at the liquid left from the vegetables and meat.

"I know, and Sherlock's wanted to be a pirate, but they don't exist anymore," he rose a brow at his boyfriend as Sherlock simply smiled again. _Really, John? That the best you got?_

"I can be whatever I choose. I could be a detective if I really wanted," he reasoned.

"You know, that does sound a bit…" John was about to say sexy, but his mum was sitting right there. So he settled for, "Brilliant. You'd probably get annoyed with everyone else, but yeah. Especially with you deducing everything," and he placed his dishes in the sink as Sherlock followed, finally finished.

Sherlock grinned at the fact that John was about to call him sexy, but his mum was right there. It was funny and a compliment to Sherlock. It didn't matter if he hadn't really said it, he was thinking it…

And so, that brings me to telling you about now. John had finally done what he had wanted, assured that Sherlock would be, "Okay?" he had to make sure before he just left Sherlock on his own.

Sherlock nodded, smiling a bit, "I'll be fine, John. Just please, come home," he kissed his boyfriend lightly as John nodded. Everything was settled as he picked up the few things he was taking, again. "I'll be here, I won't die, I promise," he assured his blond.

Sherlock followed John down the stairs as the door was flung open. "John?" Sherlock grabbed his forearm. John hummed as Sherlock spun him round once more and kissed him with everything he had. John wrapped his arms around Sherlock's neck and participated, throwing everything back and Sherlock almost cried.

"I have to go," John said as Sherlock nodded. "I love you," John said as if it was a promise. It was, a bit like a promise, though.

Sherlock barely got to a whisper in saying it back. But upon realizing those would be his last words to John before he wouldn't see him again for a long time. "I love you, John," he said loud and proud as John smiled broadly.

John kissed him one last time, slow and meaningful, and again full of everything. they couldn't get enough. Sherlock accepted as it was over before he could make John stay. And the door was closed before he could let John see the tears in his eyes.

He trudged back up the stairs as he remembered everything that had lead up to now. Them as children, them in middle school, in high school and everything that had happened that almost got them killed, yet they were closer. Everything that had only brought them to being almost indestructible, and now John's dream was the thing tearing them apart.

And Sherlock couldn't help the tears as he curled up into the couch cushions and sobbed quietly. Not even Mrs. Hudson, his landlady for about six months now, could get him to stop. She offered him tea and biscuits and still, nothing.

She couldn't help a few of her own tears as she realized John must have left. She settled for placing a kiss to his temple and left him to be alone. Sherlock let the last of his emotions drain as he declared that he would never show them again as long as John was gone.

It'd make for complications and such, so he simply quit. After the few hours of on and off sobbing and crying, he decided he would get his second case. He made sure the first one was with John, so he texted Lestrade to give him another one.

But Lestrade texted back saying no. It was almost dark and Sherlock needed rest. Lestrade reminded him of the professor they had in high school. It was weird that he actually had a lot in common with that teacher. Looks? No definitely not, but his personality, and of course his name, but still. It was just the tiniest bit weird.

But when Sherlock read the text, he threw his phone to the desk and dressed for bed as he decided to try to get enough sleep to last a long while. He knew he'd have at least slightly bad dreams tonight, as John wasn't here to sleep with him.

But he tried to sleep, he really did. He got a good five hours before he woke with the same sweat he despised, to sunshine in his window and wondered what John was doing. But he couldn't dwell on it for long before Lestrade texted him, saying he finally had a case for Sherlock to pick up.

Sherlock dressed hurriedly as he caught himself in the reflection of the bathroom mirror when he brushed his teeth. It was weird, seeing himself without John near. But he had to get used to it, everyone did. Even the Yard was a bit put off when they didn't see John right there beside the detective.

They never questioned, though, knowing they'd probably get punched for it. They simply let Sherlock work, and couldn't believe it when he solved two, almost three cases in one afternoon. Then they all told him to go home, he needed rest. But he didn't want to sleep.

So he settled for a walk in the park. Oh, bad idea. There was that little patch of flowers, and then bench. Ugh, and he simply went home. At least there he could silently drown in his and John's memory, alone. At least John wasn't dead, right? He was coming home in a few years, alive.

And until then, Sherlock will never stop loving him, even if he does die. It wouldn't matter, because Sherlock won't break his promise…

* * *

**I know, I just skipped to them being adults, but their teen years will be remembered along the way, don't worry. Reviews? **


	11. Years

Eleven: Years

John couldn't believe it, he was finally doing what he wanted. Sherlock wasn't here, though, and that was what put him off a bit. He wasn't sleeping next to his lover and waking up to kisses. Instead he usually woke up to screaming, and he didn't really like that much.

Once, he almost punched the lights out of his drill sergeant, but he restrained himself. He knew that would end badly. But God, did he wish he had taken everyone's advice and just stayed with Sherlock. _Sherlock…_ after all, he was the one who wanted John to follow his dreams.

So, instead of moping, John got out of bed with a jump and the man on the top bunk was a bit surprised that the little soldier had so much energy at like four in the morning. In reality, he didn't have energy, he had willpower, and that was what got him through marching in the mud and rain, and sleeping outside in the unyielding cold of the night.

It was what got him through the ranks, and through the deployment a year after AIT. After almost thirteen months of deployment, he was back on base with the other soldiers, working at a hospital as a nurse because he had studied to become a doctor. And about two years after peace and slight normality, he went back out to the front lines.

By now, John yearned for Sherlock's touch, but after he was done with this deployment and one more year, he could go home. And he'd go home proud. But that day, God it was brutal. All they could do was rely on the bullets and each other…

Line Break

Sherlock endured four years without John home, but he usually got letters telling him that John was climbing the ranks faster than almost anyone else had before. One, because he was amazing at what he does, and two, because they needed more nurses/doctors like him in the higher ranks. So, mostly because he was a brilliant soldier, and a kind hearted idiot.

So yes, Sherlock missed John like crazy, but he was also proud of his soldier. He had studied hard in his junior and senior years. He even took college courses alongside his high school classes. Of course, with Sherlock's help, he passed all of them. And through AIT, he studied and got another year of college in before they decided that was good enough.

It was very rare for someone to be accepted so early. But as said before, John was fantastic, and they really needed someone who wouldn't puke at the sight of blood or their comrades being behind that blood.

Of course, Sherlock was getting a little emotional here and there, he even cried once (after the day John left). But over all, he kept himself distant until he could actually feel John there. Everyone else around him wondered what John saw in him, but Lestrade had seen him a few times without that stupid mask, and he was a brilliant man as well as a detective.

And you know, through this all, he met someone while he himself was in college. Mycroft insisted he get a degree and if he wished, it would be in becoming a detective. But he needed something more to reflect his brilliance than just his words. He needed a reputation, so Sherlock decided he would graduate the top of his class. It would make John proud, too.

But a year into uni, he met a very strange character. (Second year of college, Calculus, actually), Sherlock was sitting alone on the outside row of the desks, as always. He made sure to sorta avoid people, but what he couldn't avoid was this man sitting beside him.

He tried to ignore him, but this man pressed further, asking questions he really should ask the professor, but knowing Sherlock and his tendency to show off, he answered all of them. "Victor, by the way, nice to meet you Mr. Holmes," he stood once everyone else was out of the room and he had picked up his scattered things from the desk.

"Sherlock," he corrected and extended a hand. Victor took it and Sherlock nodded, about to just walk away.

But Victor grabbed his arm, "You don't live in the dorms? I've never seen you around," he explained and Sherlock shrugged.

"Even if I did live in the dorms, you wouldn't see much of me," he admitted. "We have class, Victor," Sherlock pressed suddenly and Victor nodded.

"Yeah," he said simply and let go of Sherlock's sleeve. Again, Victor was a strange bloke. After he met Sherlock, he started studying with him, showing him everything he knew and asking about the things he didn't know.

Sherlock started to slightly enjoy his company as a study buddy. Even though, Sherlock didn't need to study, as he already knew everything. Though, it was the perfect opportunity for Victor to learn from someone he could understand.

"Hey mate, thanks again," and instead of shaking his hand this time, he hugged Sherlock. The brunette didn't know what exactly to do, but he hugged him back. He hadn't hugged someone in a long time, and the last person had been… John.

_John…_ _Dammit, stop thinking about him. You're going to get all emotional again. Stop! _He managed to push Victor from his arms and the very dirty almost brown haired man was confused. "Sherlock, what's wrong, mate? Did I step over a boundary? I'm sorry," he tried, backing against the door.

"No, it's… It's nothing, just a… nothing. I'm fine," _No, I'm not, but he doesn't need to know about that… _"I'll see you tomorrow at lunch, okay? We can continue studying for the exams there," Sherlock nodded as he gathered his things from the dorm room and his coat and was gone.

He threw his things into the car Mycroft helped him pay for, _which was only by like twenty something, so bleh_. Anyway, he threw his coat in there as well, when Victor decided he would figure out what was wrong. "Sherlock, please tell me what's wrong," Victor pleaded, almost breathless from running out to the parking lot.

"I told you, it's nothing," he opened the car door and Victor slammed it shut.

"Don't give me that shit. I know something's up. You're not acting like yourself," Victor said as Sherlock's hand slipped from the door handle.

"Myself? Tell me, what do I normally act like?" he tested.

"Well, usually you're not very emotional, you know? A complete arse who's only good for knowledge. Though, that's not exactly true, either. But anyway, when I hugged you, something.. flashed in your eyes. Almost like something was… crushing you. Almost as if you were, I daresay, heartbroken…" he explained and Sherlock's eyes widened and narrowed at his friend.

"Even if I was, it's not your business to get into my personal life," Sherlock tried to leave again and Victor grabbed his hand, almost crushing his fingers.

Sherlock pulled back, glaring at him. "It is my business. You're my friend, and I don't like when my friends have something wrong that's hurting them like this. Please, tell me?" he asked and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"'Wrong?' That implies that I was right in the first place," and Victor's breath caught. _So, that's it. He thinks… oh, no Sherlock. _"And what makes you think I'm your friend?" Sherlock asked.

Victor cleared his throat to answer that last one, "Well, because… I honestly don't know. But seriously mate, what's up?" he asked again. Sherlock sighed, and he opened the car door to sit sideways in the seat. Victor saw this and leaned against the car to listen, and Sherlock spilled almost everything.

He wished he hadn't, but how else was he to explain how he and John had become so close? Of course, he didn't even say John's name, not even that John was a man, but he instead used other terms of endearment. He didn't feel like letting Victor know everything simply because he had slipped and showed his sadness, yet again.

And as Sherlock explained everything, he didn't get emotional as he usually would. Instead, he got stronger in the ability to hide said emotions, and he didn't show any at all by the end of it. He felt it alright, but Victor saw none of it as it just left. And in the end, "Wow. I'm sorry, Sherlock. It sounds like you've got a lot on your plate," Victor admitted and Sherlock shrugged.

"I have to get home. I'll see you tomorrow, Victor," Sherlock turned into the car and was about to close the door again.

"Sherlock, I really mean it, I'm sorry," he held the door open.

"Stop apologizing for something you can't control," Sherlock looked to him.

Those greenish brown eyes fell to the ground, "No, I mean for stepping over the line. Sorry," he apologized.

"Oh, no, that wasn't your fault. It was mine," he shook his head and Victor looked to him.

"Right, then I can do it again?" he asked.

"What, hug me? Yeah, sure whatever," Sherlock shrugged as he stood once more. He held his arms out and he smiled at the fact that before John, he wouldn't even touch someone. But now he just doesn't really care.

Victor embraced him with a pat on the back, "See you later, mate," and he left with a two finger salute. Sherlock tried not to let himself realize that that was what John does sometimes. Instead, he climbed back in his car and drove as fast as he could to just get home and let everything go.

Victor acted very weird around Sherlock, as he noticed. Victor doesn't really make contact with anyone, and yet with Sherlock he was so open to anything. Sherlock wondered why Victor was like that, but he quit once he walked through the door of his flat.

"Oh, Sherlock, you're home! The tea's just about done," she pointed to the kitchen.

"I thought you weren't my housekeeper, Mrs. Hudson," he dropped his coat upon the chair and walked to the kitchen where John would have complained about the things being everywhere.

"I'm not, it's just that you've been so stressed lately. It's not good to be stressed," she wiggled her finger at him and he rolled his eyes.

"Guess not," he plopped down in a kitchen chair and his landlady rushed about getting the tea ready to drink. She set a cup down before Sherlock, and he had his hand about it, but he felt a buzzing in his pocket and then a _ding_.

_For Christ's sake_, but it was someone different than he expected. He opened the message carefully, and was surprised by the contents, so much so that he was stiff as his finger brushed over the keys. **Poor Sherlock. Depressed and not telling anyone a thing…- M**

M? That could only mean… **I thought I dealt with you already?- SH**

**Oh, you mean my kid brother? Yes, Jim was too easy, I admit…- M**

Anything further, Sherlock would have ignored, but there were none after that. Mrs. Hudson furrowed her light brows at Sherlock and he glared at her, one that said for her to go away because he didn't want anyone around.

Sometimes, Sherlock would give this glare, and she would simply sigh and just leave. As she did now. Sherlock let out a breath he had been holding and decided he would blow off everything else and finish the homework he almost finished in class and with Victor.

He hoped Victor was holding up his end of the deal and finishing his work as well instead of going to some party or something. Which he did sometimes, just to get out. He even asked Sherlock to join him once, but he declined.

Sherlock didn't like alcohol, except for maybe wine. He wasn't much of a drinker unless something happens… say, for instance, if John were to die. That would make him go to spirits for temporary help. But he was fine, and he didn't need anything more than himself.

Line Break

"This is stupid…" he muttered under his breath as he plopped his pencil in the middle of the text book to get his calculator on his desk. _Why did I even… oh yeah, Sherlock. God, why do I keep thinking about him? I know he's a friend and all but why does he have to be on my mind 24/7? Oh, well that's fucking fantastic._

He plopped back down in his chair and sighed, _My head needs checked or something. I'm probably seriously crazy if I think I have a chance against that person Sherlock described with such awe. I don't even know their name or if they were a woman or a man… Sherlock has too many secrets for me to keep up with. Why I would care is beyond me, but for some reason I do…_

He sighed heavily again as he finished what he promised he would for Sherlock. He really hoped these 'feelings' didn't get to him. He knew he was always different in his choices, but seriously? This is just too much…

* * *

**So, yeah... I thought maybe since Sherlock got along with Victor that he would have a bit of John-like qualities... But, do tell me what you think so far? **


	12. Again

**Author's Appreciation: Here you are my lovely readers who stuck with me even though I've been so mean to the characters! Sorry about that, but it won't stop until I'm satisfied with the built up angst and can have feels spill out and make you all cry! Sorry, I'm cruel... Anyway, enjoy! Please R&R!**

* * *

Twelve: Again…

"C'mon, mate! You have nothing better to do!" Victor begged and Sherlock rolled his eyes with a dramatic shake of his curls.

"Fine, but I am not throwing up in the morning," Sherlock warned, saying he was not getting drunk.

"Where's the fun in that?" Victor grinned and Sherlock just looked to the floor as Victor drug him out of the dorm room and down a few halls to another. "I promise, it's just the five of us," Victor declared before he knocked on the door in front of him.

"I get drunk and you're keeping me in the dorms," Sherlock demanded and Victor shrugged. He muttered an okay and drug Sherlock into the small room.

"Victor! You made it!" a woman shouted and Victor laughed.

"Of course I did! Look, I brought a friend!" he held up Sherlock's hand and they all (two men and a woman) rose a brow at that. Victor dropped it, "Anyway, are we going to play or what?" he sat down in the semi circle they had formed on the floor, he and Sherlock completing it.

The rest of the group eyed Sherlock, and wondered why Victor was bringing someone they didn't know. Did he even go to school here? He didn't look like a college kid. He looked more like a matured adult who didn't need to be here.

Yet here he was, surrounded by a bunch of college retards. They suspected that this was the tutor that Victor was bragging about, a bit too much, might I add. They had begun to think… never mind, back to the weird form of spin the bottle they had just started playing.

Instead of kissing people or doing dares, they spun the bottle and the two it was pointing at had to strip the same piece of clothing. And an individual wasn't wearing a piece of clothing the other was, they had to strip to what the other playing was wearing. Confusing, I know.

Example: Sherlock hadn't stripped at all yet. He didn't want to, really, but if he didn't they would make him drink. So when it landed on him and the woman who was obviously tipsy, and she wasn't wearing her shirt or her shoes, and she added her socks to the pile, Sherlock had to strip all three. Weird rules, but he followed them.

And when he took his shirt off, everyone stared. _Everyone. _"What?" he asked, truly curious as to why they were so fascinated by his bare skin. He never thought anything of it, even when John praised him for his beautiful skin he simply shrugged. Eventually, everyone gained their breaths once again as the bottle spun. Victor was the one to stare the longest, and it was a bit awkward… _Stop staring… _he thought.

This was the weirdest game Sherlock had ever played, but when one of them was stripped all the way down to their underwear, they decided that she lost and they should move onto something different. But first, they _all_ had to take at least one shot. The host of this little gathering insisted, as Sherlock hadn't drunk a thing.

He downed a glass of whiskey and they were pleased as he was swearing to himself he wouldn't get drunk. He's the worst when he's drunk, violence is the least of someone's worries when he spouts off everything he knows about you. Even John's been slightly offended once when he took care of Sherlock when he was piss drunk. (Long time ago, won't explain, as it ended very sexually and there's no time for that…)

But anyway, when Victor tried to shove another drink in his hand, he threw it over Victor's face. "How many times must I tell you I'm not getting hammered?" he asked bluntly and Victor was a bit offended as he toweled off his face with his T-shirt.

He mumbled something under his breath as Sherlock rolled his eyes and decided to focus on something else. Oh yeah, the game that they were trying to play, as everyone had redressed completely. But Sherlock was NOT playing Seven Minutes in Heaven. He hadn't ever and though he knew how to, he would never. Especially not with John being on his mind.

He does not need the guilt of cheating as well as all of the other things he's done to John. Like insulting him, or harassing him in a drunken stupor. No, he doesn't need more of that, so he simply left. He wasn't so intoxicated that he couldn't drive, he'd be fine. But Victor slurred after him, "Aw! Sherlock, where ya goin'?" and he got up to follow.

"Don't Victor, just don't. I can't take it anymore. Jo… My 'romantic interest' wouldn't like this at all," he had almost given away John's name. He didn't want to give Victor John's name because he finally knew why Victor hung around him so often. It was a bit unnerving, honestly.

So it didn't surprise him one bit when Victor grabbed him by the lapels of his coat and smooshed him to the nearest wall. "What is wrong with you?" he insisted, not at all uncomfortable by the close contact.

"Again, you assume I was right in the first place?" Sherlock rolled his eyes at the drunken idiot that had a surprisingly stable and strong grip on him.

He could almost taste the alcohol on Victor's breath, "Don'tplaydumb with me, fucktard. Tell me why you're being so awkward allofthesudden…" he could barely get the words to tumble at the speed he wanted them to. They were all smashed together from a bit to the beginning to the very end.

"It's not all of the sudden. You just never saw it until now, and if you must know, it's because of… a certain person," Sherlock tried explaining without saying too much.

"Why can't you just get over whoever it is already?" his grip was softening as he looked up to Sherlock, a little shorter than John and it would have been adorable if one, Sherlock didn't have John. And two, he wasn't drunk. Wait, since when does Sherlock recognize looks besides John? _Ugh, confusing even to me, stupid fucking brain…. _

"Victor," he finally got out. "Let me go," he demanded, looking down into the man's eyes.

"No," and this next part would have been blush-worthy, "I'll never let you go, Sherlock," if he didn't have John. And the last part was heart crushing, for both of them. It was when Victor rolled onto his toes, and his lips were pressed firmly against Sherlock's, his brows furrowed in nervousness and a bit of confusion.

Crushing for Sherlock, because he still thought of it as cheating, and he hated cheaters. Crushing for Victor, because Sherlock wasn't interested. Victor was a good mate when it came to friendship, but Sherlock could care less, no offense, if Victor liked or loved him.

So once they separated, Sherlock regained the footing he had somehow lost, leaning against the wall, and Victor stared him down, waiting for a response. Physical or words. Either would do. But in that moment, Sherlock hadn't kissed someone in so long, and John had awoken that physical need in him before. That really hadn't been a good idea, John…

Sherlock had no fucking idea what he was doing, and he hated himself for it the whole time as he gripped Victor's shirt harder than the shorter man had gripped Sherlock's jacket and pulled him back up for another hard kiss.

Victor was too drunk to tell the difference between simple physical need and a passionate kiss, so he simply took what he got and warped it into what he wanted to believe was happening. And he kissed back before someone rounded the corner.

She gasped as Sherlock looked to them. She was blushing like hell in embarrassment of 'interrupting' and Sherlock only just realized what he had been doing. Internally, he thanked her intervention, but externally, he blushed of shame and embarrassment and left with a whoosh of his coat behind him.

Victor watched, starry eyed at the way his long coat waved behind him as he walked away to the parking lot and the light brunette woman rushed over to his shoulder before he passed out of exhaustion and from the alcohol, and to this day he'd never admit it, but from being taken aback by how hungry that kiss had at least felt.

Sherlock will never deny that he messed up, big time, but he will deny until the day he died that he was thinking about how far it actually would have gone if that woman hadn't stepped out. He didn't want to know, as John was there, in his head, yelling at him for being so stupid.

_But this isn't fair, John!_ He struck out and hit the handle of the steering wheel in front of him. _Why is it that I'm left with these feelings getting confused because with you my situation was similar but this different, and yet I can't differentiate and therefore, I kiss Victor, like the huge and complete idiot I am?! And then! And then, you're not here to tell me how to unconfused myself with my emotions! God, John, why did I tell you to leave me?!_

He couldn't even start the car, and this time, the left over alcohol and the guilt poured over his brilliant mask, and he found himself leaning over the steering wheel and crying with huge and violent sobs. _Please come home, John… I can't stand it anymore….._

* * *

John had woken that day, and it was fairly normal, or at least as normal as it can get with being down range. He had patients, of course, but the real adrenaline kicked in when they sent him out to the field, saying they needed him to treat patients there.

The only reason he had to go out there was because the soldiers couldn't be moved yet; they were still losing too much blood for that. So John obliged them, carrying his medical kit and his fine ass over there. At first, he was slightly excited.

You know, the battle field, he gets to be out there again, and finally gets to help people. But that day wasn't about him helping people, it was about when he finally had a five minute break, and one of the higher ups pulled him into her tent. "John Watson," she started.

"Ma'am," he saluted and she waved it off, saying he could drop it. He did as he shot her a questioning look.

"Look, I have the worst of news for you, and what some would consider good for them. Uhm," where does she begin? "Mmm, well, there's no way of sugar coating this, so I'll just say it." _Oh God, is Sherlock hurt? _Was the first question that came to mind. _Always thinking of him, quit, he's probably fine_. _But what if he isn't?…_ anyway, "You can't go home in a week like they said you would," she said, almost fast enough that John didn't catch it.

"And why not?" trying not to lose his cool. But on the inside, he was pissed, sad, and internally beating the part of him that had slightly wanted her to say that.

"Because we need you here, and unless you get injured, you aren't going anywhere. I'm sorry, but we do need you here. Go save more lives," she nodded for him to leave and he did so, with a huge sigh of relief. Relief that even if he has to say, at least Sherlock was okay. Or somewhat okay, or at least living. _Oh Jesus, what's happening to Sherlock?_

But he couldn't worry right now, he had other worrying soldiers to take care of… or so he thought he did. And it was almost as if she had warned him about getting hurt, because all he could do was stand there when a bullet went straight through his shoulder. At first, he only stared, remembering when this had happened before, and when the blood sprayed and he was even more confused as he simply fell to his knees.

He felt the urge to poke it, but he couldn't as it was bleeding profusely now, and he was fading into black as he could hear someone yelling at him. It was all a blur as he fell with his face in the dirt and passed out as another soldier grabbed him by the waist and the shoulders, hoisting him up.

The woman he had spoken to only mere seconds ago, now felt somehow guilty as someone carried Watson to a tent. He was going home now, but with a terrible wound. And she couldn't help but feel as if this were her fault, for saying he wasn't going anywhere unless he got injured. Well, now he was injured, and all the while she was losing the best soldier and her best doctor.

Technically he was a nurse, but he did the dirty work sometimes when the doctor got injured himself, or they simply weren't paying attention. Or he'd laugh as he did his work because the next guy pissed his pants at the blood squirting from his fallen comrade.

But now he was silent, and he did look a little paler from the sudden bloodless as they drug him to a bed and proceeded to try to patch him up here before they sent him home in an emergency chopper and let him have proper surgery there. They wrapped him up to stop the bleeding (slightly) as they stuffed him on a gurney and he was off with some other soldiers that had been injured just as badly or worse.

You know, usually he would have stayed behind so other bigger injuries could get through, but it was his rank and the sentiment they all had for him that saved his ass. Now, he just needs to keep the ass they saved…

* * *

**I know, John keeps getting hurt, but look at Sherlock. Look at the bright side, though, John's coming home! Besides, both of the Baker Street Boys have some things to heal from, whether it be physical or not... So, reviews? Or am I just going to keep assuming you like it anyway? :) **


	13. Painfully So

Thirteen: Painfully So

Victor woke suddenly and he was a bit more sober (okay, he could walk and talk) and he could reason a little more. He looked at the woman who had him in her arms, "Where's Sherlock?" he asked, yanking himself from her.

"Your boyfriend? He ran off. Dunno if he left, though," she smiled sloppily as he rolled his eyes at her. He simply said nothing more, running (more like stumbling) from the side of the building to see if Sherlock had left, or if he was, for some reason, still around.

And when he spotted a car door just sitting wide open and a man sitting inside, he figured Sherlock had stayed. But why was he crying? What did… oh great, _fantastic,_ fucking _brilliant_ move Victor! He mentally slapped himself and he kept moving forward.

He grabbed Sherlock's arm, "Sherlock," he said as softly as he could manage. Sherlock jerked away and settled on Victor a glare that could set a whole country on fire if he wasn't careful. The dirty blond man backed off a little, and Sherlock rested his head upon the steering wheel once more and simply let the tears silently fall.

"I'm sorry," Victor finally said, pulling at Sherlock's sleeve. "I shouldn't have done that _)kissed you)_, and I'm sorry, _(but it felt good)_," or at least that's what Sherlock heard as he apologized and was remembering what he had just done about fifteen minutes ago.

"It's not you, it's me," Sherlock mumbled into a whimper through tears. "I kissed back, and I can't… I…" and he was reduced to a puddle again as he leaned his head heavier into the wheel. Victor was just getting to reality again and what Sherlock said. All at the same time, he remembered what he had thought of the kiss when it was happening.

And now he realized what had really been going on when Sherlock kissed back. "It's her isn't it? Whoever you have stuck in your brilliant head?" Victor put a hand to Sherlock's shoulder and he shrugged it away, not answering. He simply let the tears fall silently and he almost ignored everything else but the guilt seeping into him from just the sound of this man standing next to him.

"I'll take that as a yes," he knelt to meet Sherlock, "look," he started again. "I've never done this do to someone before, so I don't know how to fix it. And if need be, you can kick my ass, mate, I don't care. But, just tell me how to fix this. Please?" he was desperate to patch things up. Even if it meant he was alone in this world, at least he'd be happy knowing he'd helped a friend.

And Sherlock's tears were just about clearing up when Victor sighed and Sherlock finally stole a glance at his friend. "Victor?" he squeaked, not exactly having his voice to himself yet.

"Yes, Sherlock?" very much like John asks, and that had produced more tears. He wiped at them and tried to focus. But it was failing, and majorly so.

"I… I don't understand," he said, very much like he had when John confirmed he would be by Sherlock's side forever and always.

And just as John was, Victor was confused. "Don't understand what, Sherlock?" God, these words just kept hitting in the gut like a fist and twisting.

"Why I'm such a fucking idiot," Sherlock admitted and Victor blinked at Sherlock. Sherlock _swore_, Sherlock almost _never_ swears. He says _minor_ things _sometimes_, but that was…

"Sherlock," Victor said again, grasping at Sherlock's slightly shaking shoulder, "I'm a fucking idiot, too," though swearing was easy for him, he still repeated those words to show he was listening. He swore all the time, and very freely if you pissed him off good enough. Sherlock knew that much from the homework he hated to do.

Sherlock's lips twitched at the corners and he again hated himself for smiling at someone's words, and they weren't John's. "And I'm sorry, but," he stood and Sherlock looked to him in confusion as his lips were slightly parted from regaining breath. "I can't stand this," and knowing this would hurt for the both of them, he did it anyway. The alcohol probably also had something to do with, but still.

Knowing Sherlock would probably kick the shit out of him, yet knowing he'd never get a chance likes this again, he took it and damn did it feel good. But Victor's lips against Sherlock's didn't last long because Sherlock was pulling away, and fast, as Victor's shaky grip was lost.

"I'm a selfish bastard, and if you ever call me again, I'd be surprised, Sherlock, I really would," and closing the car door for his friend, he walked away and Sherlock hated himself even more. But he couldn't drive with emotions tying him down. So he swallowed them with a huge gulp and slipped his keys from his pocket.

But once he reached 221B Baker Street, his body failed him, and he almost collapsed at the steps right there. He couldn't move, he couldn't do anything as he was reaching for the door with the key, but tears suddenly came back, and they were dripping profusely as his hands dropped to his sides, and his head hung in shame.

_How could I do this while you had expected me to be faithful to our biggest promise? How could I have been such an arse and gone and done this, when you were off somewhere being shot at? How could I let my soldier down with something so fucking idiotic that I solemnly swore that I would never do? How could I…?_

* * *

John's eyes opened to sadly see someone he'd never expect to visit him in the hospital. "Mycroft?" he gasped from the sudden pain when he had tried to sit up.

"Don't try that, John. You should know from last time. Funny thing about that, too," Mycroft started and John just let him say what he wished. "The bullet went straight through where the last one did. It's pretty unexpected but-" and he was cut off by John's groaning.

"You know what's unexpected? You being here," he glanced at the man leaning upon his umbrella. "What the hell do you want?" he growled and Mycroft gave a tight smile.

"I just wanted to make sure my brother didn't ruin something else. Again," he shrugged and John glared daggers at this genius yet very stupid man.

"Sherlock could never ruin me," John protested as he had finally realized what Mycroft had said. Sherlock could ruin many things, yes, but not John.

Mycroft rose a brow as if that was a challenge. But, "Well, he'll probably be here sometime soon, so I bid you farewell," he nodded, "for now," and he was gone, the door closing softly after him.

John rolled his eyes and wanted to roll over, but he knew he'd never be able to, not until at least a week later. _Where is Sherlock, by the way? Why wouldn't he be the first one here…?_

* * *

"He's what?! Mycroft, if you're lying to me…" Sherlock was about to cry again. But he had stood out in the cold for hours last night just trying to stop that. So he wasn't starting it again. Instead, he gathered his coat and was out the door. Mycroft had spoken on the other line, telling him he wasn't lying. "You're still not sorry," Sherlock growled.

"On the contrary, John is slightly of importance to me, and I do care about his health. I worry for him and for you," Mycroft admitted and Sherlock rolled his eyes as he travelled behind the building to the smallest of parking lots there.

"Keep your 'worries' to yourself," Sherlock hung up and was in the car before he even properly had his coat on. He was a mess, but this was because of everything that's been happening while John was gone. And now he was home, and not in the best of ways.

This really sucks….

"John, dear God," and Sherlock didn't even grab a chair before he was at his lover's side, and this time he did have tears. What was with him and crying lately? He was on his knees at John's arm and John smiled as much as he could.

"It's okay, Sherlock. We've been through this and worse before," he stroked Sherlock's curls with his good hand and Sherlock looked at him.

"No, don't give me that!" he shouted. But he dropped his head again, "It's not okay, and it won't ever be, so don't tell me that. This… I… I can't stand any of it anymore," he sobbed and John just carded his fingers through Sherlock's curls, trying his best to give comfort even though he wasn't fully able to. That was John, always trying to help someone besides himself.

"Don't touch me like that!" he threw John's hand to the bed again and John looked hurt. "I don't deserve anything from you…" he reasoned. John gave a frown and simply said nothing as Sherlock had expected him to ask why. "Aren't you going…" he sniffled, "to ask why?" he asked.

"I've learned not to argue with you," he gave a small smile as Sherlock's realizations of just how much John knew him, made his tears fall once more, and faster. But all he did was stand there with his head about his chest and let tears start to drop onto the floor.

John really did want to say something, but he knew better. He knew that if he were to try to tell Sherlock the opposite of how he feels, he would be denied. Then Sherlock would probably storm out of the hospital, and John was not in the mood, nor the shape to get up and chase him down. So instead, "Hey," he reached out slightly, "wanna know something weird but strangely amazing?" he prompted and Sherlock tilted his head in confusion as he wiped at the tears around his chin.

"Um," he grabbed a chair, finally. And he sat as he asked, "Okay… what is it?"

"Well, you know how when we were younger I was shot in this shoulder?" he pointed lazily as Sherlock almost cringed at the memory. But he nodded, humming as he brushed a hand over John's chest. John chuckled, "Well, doctor says it was the same exact spot as last time. That's a bit weird, don't you think?" John asked, waiting for Sherlock to babble on about how amazing and almost impossible that would be.

But he waited to no avail. Instead Sherlock said nothing as he rubbed at the bandages around John's chest under the hospital gown. John hated those things, too. He wished he could just wear regular clothes and not look ridiculous when he stood up and felt the breeze. But, what are you going to do, eh? Then Sherlock finally said, "It is a bit weird, isn't it? I wonder…" and Sherlock thought about this.

_The same exact spot, even the bandages wrapped around are in the same way as before… how is this so similar? No, it's probably the familiarity of one of us being hurt and in the hospital… nothing to think more of. Damn, but that is weird, _he had started rubbing again after he had his thinking moment and John hummed in approval.

Even if John had stitches, or bruises, or cuts, or anything really, Sherlock had magic fingertips and he couldn't not like that tingling he got from them. He almost fell asleep, if it hadn't been for the teardrops on his forearm. John couldn't stand to see Sherlock like this, but he also couldn't even literally stand. So what was he to do but wrap his arm around Sherlock's neck as his head had hit the bed again?

His fingers brushed over the nape of Sherlock's neck as he played with the small curls there and Sherlock just kept going with the hot tears. By now, even John was wondering what was wrong. He knew Sherlock would be distraught, but this? What had happened while he was gone?

_Only God fucking knows… _John thought as Sherlock shivered. John noticed that he had stopped playing with the curls and his fingertips landed simply on Sherlock's neck. He had never known there was a spot there that was so sensitive. Even with the two times they had actually gone deeper into their relationship, (Hehe, get it? Deeper… Sorry, pervert moment right there) John hadn't ever found that spot.

Sherlock still hummed and almost purred as John just traced his fingers from Sherlock's curls to the base of his neck with feather light touches. Sherlock sat up slowly, not wanting to hurt or surprise John, but he didn't deserve the pleasure that came from that. Again, John wondered why he had moved if he liked it so much.

That's when he started to understand and he decided to test the limits of this. "Sherlock?" John looked to his eyes, that were still rimmed with red that was slowly fading to a pink. Sherlock smiled sadly as he nodded for John to continue, "Would you please kiss me?" he asked and Sherlock did smile a little wider at that.

He knew he really didn't deserve a thing that came from John, but he had asked. And who denies their lover a kiss? Unless, of course, they're teasing they plan on giving one later, but still. So he stood, and John looked up as Sherlock's curls brushed over his forehead and a chaste kiss was placed to his lips. But it lasted only for a few seconds before Sherlock pulled away.

John didn't want him to leave just yet though, and his head was a few centimetres from the pillow as he caught Sherlock's lips with his own again. Sherlock was surprised a bit, but John managed to pull him back down and Sherlock was half laying on him before he pulled off again. John smiled before he opened his eyes to see Sherlock blushing.

He had almost forgotten what Sherlock blushing looked like, as he hasn't seen it in so long. He grinned and Sherlock looked at him as if to say for him to shut up. But John gave a look back saying he hadn't said a thing, and Sherlock huffed. John loved when all they had to do was look at each other and they knew what was going through their minds.

It was cheesy, but sweet. Plus, Sherlock's like a friggin' mind reader, so he probably knew what John was thinking in the first place. But as John grinned, and Sherlock moved to sit once more, his pocket buzzed as it dinged and he grumbled.

He pulled it out and read a text he really didn't want to see, _especially_ at this moment in time…

* * *

**You guys can probably already guess who texted him, but I wanted to make you wait for it. I told y'all, I'm mean... But, reviews? **


	14. Sparks

Fourteen: Sparks

"Sherlock?" John questioned as the detective stiffened and he was squeezing the phone in his hand. John's brows furrowed as Sherlock plopped in the chair and read this again to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. He wished this was a side effect to a drug, but sadly it wasn't.

"I'm sorry," Sherlock bowed his head as he read it for the last time before slamming it face down on the side table.

"Sherlock, this isn't-"

"Don't tell me it's not my fault!" Sherlock swiped the phone from the table and shoved it into John's hand. "Don't even start with that…" and John looked at the screen, and it surprisingly wasn't broken as he read the text.

**This is a silly game. But the funny ones are always the most fun, yes? Your move…- M** "Sherlock, this doesn't prove anything," John argued as he put it back in its original spot on the table. He wished he could sit up and hold Sherlock, but that was out of the question right now.

"No, John, it doesn't prove _anything_. It proves everything," he stood and looked down on John as John looked back in confusion to the man above him. The back of Sherlock's fingers brushed over John's cheek as the detective's lips were to the soldier's forehead.

Then they were on his nose and his cheeks, and finally, still as soft as silk, they were on John's lips. He threw everything he was feeling into this as John did the same, seeing as he couldn't move anything but his mouth properly.

It was still slow and sweet as Sherlock's tongue ran across John's mouth. John's jaw dropped, almost as if to say 'I thought you'd never ask.' Sherlock tasted his doctor for what he knew what would be the last time in a long while. And if it goes in the wrong direction, he'll never be able to do this again.

He savoured everything as he stood again and ran his fingers through John's hair, "I love you," and John was confused as hell when he walked out. But not before grabbing his phone and texting someone. And _finally_, John understood everything.

But before he had the courage to say anything, Sherlock was out the door with his collar flipped up as he was now lost to the world. His coat slightly waved behind him as he walked away from this, and was slowly pulling himself into a battle mode. Pulling his emotions back as I they were hair in his face and now he could see clearly as he waltzed out the doors.

Sherlock was just done with people hurting him and the people around him. He knew he left John confused, but that didn't matter right now. As he was outside, his keys were in his hand as his mobile buzzed and dinged. He opened it to a text that would have made 'normal' people look in confusion, but Sherlock understood.

**The sun doesn't shine here, yet it is always bright. Meet me where stories are told, but no one speaks.- M **_Okay, _Sherlock thought as well as texted. He was in his car before his mind took him to where he knew Moriarty would want to meet him. _Clever choice, I'll give him that…_

* * *

Mycroft walked back in the room as John glared at his mobile in his hand. Mycroft placed it on the table, "Wondering where Sherlock could have possibly gone," it wasn't a question, but an observation. Yet John still nodded as he sighed. Don't feel too bad, I have no idea, either," Mycroft admitted with a small smile. It was still filled with no emotion as it faded.

John gave a mock disappointment, "Come on, big brother, you're supposed to know everything," he smiled warmly and Mycroft's smile dropped. "Oh well, I think I know what's wrong, though," John said as he grabbed his mobile from the table. But it was a brief and awkward position that he doesn't wish to repeat.

"Oh, you think you know what his mind is like? I assure you, no one knows. It makes no sense at all, not even I can figure it out," Mycroft said as he realized what he had admitted. John smiled as he turned his phone on again, for the first time in a long time. He was surprised it wasn't dead.

"But aren't you two similar with the whole 'mind palace' thing?" John wondered and glanced at his screen before looking to Mycroft as he rolled his eyes.

"It's not a palace, but yes, somewhat," he nodded. John smirked at the fact that Sherlock was still a bit childish. But instead of speaking again, he typed in Sherlock's number by heart instead of searching for it. He wanted to make sure he had remembered.

Doing this with one hand was awkward, but he managed as he got out a text…

* * *

**Whatever the hell you're doing, come back alive. I don't need another dead body on my mind.- JW **Sherlock frowned at this message as he started the car. The engine purred to life as he quickly typed back, **I promise to stay alive. And none of that was your fault, so don't even go there…- SH **He couldn't help but to convince John that he always put too much blame on himself.

**Can we not do this over a text?... Anyway, I think I know why you left so suddenly, but I don't want to sound like an idiot…- JW**

**Spill the can of beans you opened, John – SH**

Sherlock could hear him sigh as he read the last message: **Did something happen between you and someone else? I feel like someone did something that you regret and now you're blaming yourself… I'm wrong, aren't I? – JW**

**Actually, no, you aren't. And it wasn't just someone else, but as you said, we can't do this over a text. I'll see you in the morning, John. I love you – SH**

**I love you, too. Don't break your promise….- JW **_I already broke one, I don't need another. This needs to hurry up_, he thought as he finally got to driving away from this boring place and to the nearest library. Yes, clever choice, don't you think?

Sherlock knew John would be asleep by the time he returned that night, but he had to know who was behind the stupid texts.

And he had to say, he was actually a bit surprised when he slinked up the stairs, and found a familiar little pest sitting in a library chair at the table near the section of adult fiction. Of course it was fiction… but Sherlock made sure he was silent as he made his way to the opposite side of, "Jim," he greeted as if they were old friends. No one would question friends meeting up in a library.

"Sherlock, glad to see you haven't changed," Jim smiled, playing along. "Expected me to be in jail, still?" he asked curiously as Sherlock sat in front of him.

Sherlock shrugged, "I knew you wouldn't be locked away forever. Though, I do wonder what kind of idiot freed you," he leaned over a bit expectant of an answer to the obvious answer.

"My brother has just as much power as your own, and he definitely isn't an idiot. As a matter of slight fact, he may be smarter than yours," he grinned and Sherlock rolled his eyes, sitting back in his chair. It was on the brink of uncomfortable as Sherlock asked what was on his mind.

"So, it was your brother who texted me?" it was almost a statement but filled with curiosity for a person as intelligent and maybe more so than Jim. Little Moriarty smiled at Sherlock's anticipation. Anyone could see that he was intrigued by Jim's elder brother.

"Yes, it was my brother. He doesn't really meet people in person unless he's one hundred percent sure of what is going to happen," he nodded and Sherlock wondered about that precaution. Mycroft sort of does the same thing.

"Clever, though," Sherlock admits. "So, why is he texting me, then?" he had to ask. He had to be sure of the answer instead of being the usual idiot he is and just thinking he's automatically correct.

"The same reason I was and still am a bit interested in you. He likes to play games, and if you disappoint him, he will ring you out better than a wet towel. Be sure to distract him well," Jim smacked at his gum and Sherlock just noticed it was green; mint, or perhaps watermelon. But mint seems more like Jim, more the classical type.

"I'm guessing that's why this has just come up, then? He's bored, and he released his guard dog on me again as well as himself," he shook his head. "Really, geniuses need to be more common," he suggested. Jim grinned and disregarded the comment about being a guard dog.

"You, too, huh?" as if he had been thinking the same thing. Sherlock was a bit shocked that he was thinking like a mad man. "Y'know, Sherlock, we're not at all different, you and I. It was simply our environment that made me the way I am, and you the way you are." He leaned over the table and whispered like a snake hisses, "Simply because you had Watson to grow up with. But he's a charmer, I'll give you that," he winked and smacked at his gum once more as he sat properly.

Sherlock's face was set in stone when Jim looked to it again, "You have no right to be ogling my boyfriend," he said simply.

"Oh, honey, everyone ogles your…," he was a bit shocked to be saying, "boyfriend. It's just what people do with other attractive people," he shrugged and Sherlock's cheeks threatened with going pink as he gulped that and his emotions down, physically and mentally.

He replied with almost a whisper to his breath, "Well, he's mine, not everyone's," and he never thought he would hear those words from his mouth. About anyone. And Jim's smirk wasn't helping as he continued chewing his what was just now confirmed as mint gum.

"Oh well, I just wanted to let you know that you'll probably never actually meet James and that he'll also still flatten you on London's sidewalk," Jim smiled as he stood from his chair, pushing it with the backs of his knees. Sherlock stood as well, accepting the silent hand Jim had extended.

And knowing this would push some Sherlockian buttons, Jim yanked forward and Sherlock's face was so close to his, he could smell the brilliant mint coming from Jim's teeth and tongue. Jim's lips settled about Sherlock's and Sherlock jerked back as he almost fell over from the chair staying behind him. He almost shouted, but remembered he was in a library, so he hissed out, "What the hell was that?!" he glared.

"I'm sure the phrase you're looking for is 'What in the Hell was that?' but oh well," he shrugged at his old joke and Sherlock's eyes narrowed. "And it was to show you that you don't just have one life anymore, but you in fact, have two," he held up two fingers to emphasize. "One with your lover, and one with your work," he smiled and suddenly was bouncing down the stairs and out the door.

Sherlock wiped at his mouth, trying to get that feeling off, but it burned and tingled as he sighed. Jim was right, he now had two lives to keep updating himself with. _Poor John, he'll never get peace with this now. Why do I just keep getting into more trouble for him to hear about later? I'm such an idiotic ass… _But Sherlock looked back to the small flight of stairs and Jim was gone.

Now for his drive back to that retched hospital with his stupid and not even close to comfortable chair. But John was there, so it couldn't be that bad, right? Sherlock checked his phone and John hadn't texted anything more, so he was asleep. Either that, or he didn't feel like typing with one hand anymore…. Poor John.

* * *

"Don't expect him to wake until morning, Sherlock," Mycroft warned as Sherlock had been thinking about cuddling up with John like he had when they were younger.

"I know he won't wake until morning. Shut up, brother," he snapped as Mycroft shrugged and Sherlock glared for him to just leave already.

Sherlock had dealt with Mycroft's presence for about two hours so he could 'make sure John was okay'. And he was perfectly, but Mycroft was still here, perhaps checking on Sherlock as well. "I have things to be doing now, anyway," he said suddenly, pulling his mobile out of his pocket and walking away with his umbrella hanging from his arm. "Take care of him," was mumbled but heard before the door was closed softly and Sherlock released a breath he had been building up all through Mycroft's 'visit'.

And that was when John stirred a bit and mumbled something incoherent as Sherlock swore he had heard his name in that. And then it was louder and definitely Sherlock's name. Oh God, was he having a nightmare? In the hospital?! Oh fuck, how does one comfort another in this?

John's eyes jerked open as tears spilled from them and Sherlock's name was _screamed_.He would have sat up, but his shoulder stopped him. "Sherlock," he sobbed and the brunette was by his blond's side in seconds. With his knees upon the bed and his chest hovering over John's, he attempted somewhat of a hug, but ended up nuzzling into John's neck as he held his weight from John's body. He didn't want to hurt him, after all. Though lately, it seemed all he could was exactly the opposite.

But John smiled through the tears as he sneaked his one good arm around Sherlock's neck and tugged him down closer. He kissed at Sherlock's ear, whispering, "Don't leave me," he demanded shakily and Sherlock nodded, placing soft kisses to John's neck.

Eventually, it turned to Sherlock lightly straddling John and bending over to keep his lips to John. His neck, his ear, his cheeks, anything… but his lips. He wanted John to feel loved, but he didn't deserve the returned love that John always gives back. John was a bit confused as to why Sherlock was avoiding his lips, but Sherlock also knew every spot that made John moan and sometimes giggle.

Sherlock smiled at still being able to please John, and still give him what he thought he'd never be able to again. John hummed and it was also a bit of a moan when Sherlock's tongue slipped from his lips and flicked out at his ear. But they couldn't do anything while in the hospital, so Sherlock simply put a final kiss to John's cheek and settled in his lap.

"Why'd you stop?" John grinned sloppily as Sherlock shook his head and smiled in a faked disbelief.

"You need sleep, love. Besides, I have a lot to explain in the morning. Would you like me to sleep here?" he gestured to the bed and John himself.

"You _do_ have a lot to explain, mister," he waggled his finger lazily at Sherlock and yawned. Sherlock smiled as he looked back to him. "But yeah, can you sleep here, please? We haven't slept together in so long…" he asked and Sherlock nodded.

The brunette kicked off his shoes and slipped under the thin blanket as John shivered at how warm Sherlock was compared to the fabric. "I love you," Sherlock whispered as he finally found a good spot that wouldn't make either of them uncomfortable.

"I love you, too," John nuzzled as best as he could into Sherlock's neck and fell fast asleep before he heard Sherlock speak for the final time that silent night.

"You really shouldn't…"

* * *

**Now you must wait for the next update and all I have to say is, "Nyah nyah!" :P Seriously, though... reviews? **


	15. Flames

Fifteen: Flames

Sherlock sat up quickly and counted himself lucky John was a bit farther from him than when they fell asleep. He would have hurt John's shoulder with this abrupt movement. He, at first, hadn't even realized he was still in the hospital, sleeping beside his lover.

And he finally noticed when John groaned from slight pain and the fact that Sherlock was too far away for comfort to return. "Sh'lock?" he mumbled and Sherlock sighed, cuddling with John once more until he finally woke up without being hurt. Or without Sherlock not being attacked to his side.

John's eyes fluttered open as the grey/ blue of Sherlock's were staring into his denim blue ones. "John," Sherlock smiled, "it's about time you woke up," he mocked complaining as John rolled his eyes and still smiled as he motioned for a kiss.

Sherlock avoided his lips and instead pressed his lips to John's forehead. "Why can't I kiss you?" John asked, very annoyed. He liked kissing Sherlock if he couldn't do anything else. And right now, kissing was _all_ they could do.

"I have my reasons," Sherlock simply said, and John arched his brow in a way that said for Sherlock to explain why, and soon. Or John would have to punch him, somehow. "I guess it's about time I explained what I said I would last night, yeah?" and John nodded.

"I'm curious about everything you've been doing lately. And why you haven't been yourself." In any other situation, he would have crossed his arms and huffed, but with this, he was being patient. Even if he wasn't in the hospital with a hurt shoulder, he knew this would take time, and he couldn't just get Sherlock to tell him like he always does.

John knew that by the look Sherlock gave him that this was something he didn't even want to remember. "This is slightly your fault, you know," he joked as John nudged him with his good shoulder and Sherlock nodded. He continued talking and taking John into his mind and telling his little story that he hated repeating with words, let alone simply remembering it.

He told John about how he was going to college lately because Mycroft forced him to and of course, he has every assignment done for this semester because the teachers just gave the schedule as well as the assignments out and Sherlock knew how to do all of them. The teachers had expected him not to, or any of the other students for that matter. So he simply finished all of them and when their due, he turns them in. But through the classes he still goes to, (not wanting to seem suspicious), he met Victor.

He described Victor in a way that made him sound a lot like John, and the soldier was a bit unnerved, but he dealt with it as Sherlock explained. He dealt with Sherlock telling him about when Sherlock had started tutoring Victor, helping him keep his grades above a C, so his parents wouldn't get pissed and remove him from school.

And then it was on to that night, the party, and the… God, he could barely say it. "John, he…. He kissed me. And what I don't understand is why I…" he choked on the words he spit out, "I kissed him back, and I- John, I'm so sorry," he buried his face into John's shoulder as John simply patted his hip in understanding.

"It's not your fault, Sherlock," John tried.

"How can you say that?" he croaked and John turned to look at Sherlock's curls. He gave his lover a kiss to the neck as he explained his reasoning in a very low but very coherent voice.

"It's not your fault that I was gone for four years, and that you made a good friend that wanted to be more than that. And of course, after not having sexual contact for over four years, you reacted and participated. Honestly, if it was me, I would have done so much worse," he joked, nuzzling into Sherlock's curls. "So, really, it's me who should apologize," Sherlock's tears stopped as his eyes widened and his face was contorted into confusion as he looked to John.

"It's nothing to do with you. No offense, but it was all me, _my_ fault, _my_ friend, _my_ studies that lead to _my_ friendship," Sherlock explained and John simply rose a brow in competition.

"And it was _my_ disappearance that lead to your urgency for contact with someone you care about. He was drunk, right?" Sherlock nodded, "And you missed me," he stated and Sherlock nodded again as he buried his face once again. "It stands to reason that he wanted you, and I can see why," John smirked, "and you simply wanted someone to care for you, as I should have," and guilt took over as he realized this was almost completely his fault. It was partly Victor's and he hated that, but the rest was his.

_I was the one that left, I was the one that cared for you the most and had your heart in my hands and leaving only crushed it, and you along with it. Yeah, I was following a dream, and now I can see it was a very stupid dream. Why hadn't I just stayed home with you, love? Why did I leave when you obviously needed me now, and to stay forever? I'm such an idiot… _

Sherlock saw that look and immediately wiped it away with a kiss to his cheek, "It's not your fault, it never was." _You don't know that… _

John shook his head and closed his eyes, furrowing his brows and willing his tears to stop forming and wanting the choking feeling in his throat to just go away. Sherlock tried, he really did, but all he did was end up straddling the blond and making him open his eyes. But they were looking at him and now they couldn't stop as tears slowly ran from the blue and collected at his cheeks.

"Sherlock, I-," he couldn't even say anything as the knot in his throat just grew and the tears threatened to swell once more, almost spilling over. He was so ashamed and flushing slightly only made that more obvious as Sherlock deduced that much.

"Sh," Sherlock shushed long and quietly as John simply shut his mouth and let Sherlock brush his fingers through his hair and down his face, caressing everything he missed before John left. John wished Sherlock would kiss him, but he knew that probably wouldn't happen right now, maybe later when he convinced Sherlock this wasn't his fault. So he settled for grabbing at Sherlock's hip, and squeezing in reassurance as Sherlock leaned over the man under him.

Sherlock snuggled into John's shoulder as he simply sighed and leaned into the brunette's curls tickling his ear and his neck. "I couldn't stand it, either, you know," John finally said as he looked to the man buried in his shoulder.

"Shut up," Sherlock snapped but John rolled his eyes instead of being insulted. He knew why Sherlock was being so grumpy. And he still felt guilty, as a matter of fact, this was making it a bit worse. Sherlock was about to say something else, but his phone vibrated against the table and a ding was heard that made both of them groan in disappointment.

Sherlock climbed from John and stood, stretching himself out before grabbing the lit up screen and looking at the text sent to him. From Jim apparently. It was a simple good morning, or afternoon or whatever.

It wasn't a threat or anything. Just simply a 'good morning'… **Are you attempting to flirt with me? – SH **Sherlock smiled at that and slid his mobile in his pocket before looking to a confused John before sitting in the chair beside his bed. "Yes, John?" he knew the blond had questions.

And after the Victor incident, John was bound to be jealous. "Who was that, anyway? And why are you smiling like that?" Sherlock could practically see the anger and slight jealousy pouring from his lover's eyes. He simply smirked and brought John's hand to his lips.

"It's nothing, I promise. It wasn't Victor, if that's what you're thinking. It was…" Sherlock swallowed at the lump forming in his throat. He couldn't tell John that Jim was basically harassing him once more. That would make for a dramatic scene in which John will try to get up, and end up hurting himself. "It was an idiot who doesn't know when a permanent farewell is made," he nodded lightly and once as John gave a look that said that's complete bullshit.

Sherlock gave one back that asked if he wanted to test that. John sighed through his nose lightly as he rolled his eyes and Sherlock frowned. John's got that look about his beautiful features again. Sherlock hates this one. The one where Sherlock has no idea what John's thinking and he starts trying to guess, but his expression changes and Sherlock gets confused.

That look annoyed the hell out of Sherlock and he wanted to slap John out of it, but he also knew that once John had this look not to irritate him. It's always when he's thinking about something serious. Sherlock gets it, too, really. That look that no one can decipher because he's thinking about something that he needs to focus upon. Of course, Sherlock never realizes when his facial expressions change because he can't stare at himself while he's thinking.

But John and Sherlock definitely hate each other's thinking faces at this moment. With everything that's happened recently, those looks can't be anything good. For Sherlock, something amazing always comes out of it, but for John, usually a row comes from it. So both of them tensed up when John did speak.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. I know sometimes I can be an arse, but believe me when I say I love you, and that I don't want you to leave me," he reached out for Sherlock as the detective took the soldier's hand in his own, squeezing reassuringly.

"It's not you, for the last time. It's just… Jim Moriarty is back, and his older brother is helping this time. They are… horrifyingly similar," Sherlock shivered and John's eyes were about to pop out of his head.

"There's two of those bastards?" he almost yelled but controlled himself as Sherlock nodded slowly. John huffed, "I really wish I had come home looking better than this…." John processed this quickly as Sherlock realized what conclusion he was coming to, "Do you think they have anything to do with me being… like this?" John asked, gesturing to his shoulder, and Sherlock frowned deeper.

"I don't know John, but I would believe so. As it landed in the same spot as last time, and they both probably knew Moran," they both lightly flinched at that name. They both hated it, as much as they hated that day. Dear God, it was terrible. "John?" John hummed as he looked to Sherlock's eyes. "I thought Moran was put away for life," as in, _could he really be the one that did this to you?_

"He was, Sherlock. There's almost no need to be thinking he was the one to do this," John removed his hand from Sherlock's to wipe his dangling curls from his eyes.

"But it was the same spot, who else would have known but us?" (John and Sherlock). John looked to his shoulder and back to Sherlock.

"How… ?" that was answered with a quick thinking session. Then, "But why?" he whined. "I don't want this, can I just go to sleep and not wake up again?" he went to run his hand over his face, but Sherlock grabbed it before he could and squeezed, and John had to admit, it actually hurt a bit.

"Don't you dare leave me like that. I know I don't deserve your presence, but if you just up and left, I would die. Quite literally," he admitted and John almost choked on his own saliva with tears forming. What's with Sherlock and making John almost cry?

"You… if I…" Sherlock nodded. "Then why did you let me leave?" he begged for an answer to this question. He had been asking it since before he left, but never had the balls to physically ask.

"Don't ask stupid questions, Captain. I let you leave because it was a dream you were following and no one was going to stop you, not even me," he smiled sadly.

"If you had told me not to leave, I would have stayed here with you," and Sherlock's eyes widened and the smile dropped. He could have simply…? "But," John started again and that brought his wide eyes back to John's face as he said, "what happened, happened and now we have to live with it, yeah?" Sherlock smiled lightly and nodded.

"Yes, I believe so, though it isn't really living when all you're doing is laying here," he smirked and John rose a questioning brow to Sherlock. But before Sherlock could explain, his phone buzzed and dinged again. Sherlock mumbled something about stupid Jim and not responding, but when he opened the text, his eyes lit up.

It was Lestrade, and he had another case that was slightly interesting. "Oh, John, look at this," he shoved the phone to John's face, almost too close to read properly. But John managed and read it while shrugging the best he could. Then he understood what Sherlock was asking.

"You want to go, don't you?" and Sherlock nodded furiously, his curls bouncing surprisingly very sexily, and John smiled. "Well, go on then. I'll be here," he promised and Sherlock smiled. "But, um, can you come down here for a moment?" John raised his arm as Sherlock pressed his forehead to John's.

"Yes?" Sherlock asked, looking through the blue that confused him so much sometimes. Now was one of those times.

"Kiss me?" John asked, knowing Sherlock might not return it. But Sherlock grinned, feeling better about the whole Victor thing. John was always understanding and Sherlock knew he didn't deserve anything like that from his lover. And he said as much.

"You know I don't deserve you," and John looked up innocently as Sherlock sighed with a smile. "Okay," he surrendered and pressed his lips lightly to John's…

* * *

**Sorry about all the fluff and angst, but the next chapter is lots better with action. And a bit of horror (blood and guts and stuffs), just warning you now. But, reviews?**


	16. Ashes

Sixteen: Ashes

John was sad to see Sherlock go, but he knew that if Sherlock was torn from a case, he would be a lot worse than he was earlier with the thing about Victor, Sherlock loved cases, and John knew this. Especially from their first case together. So he watched as Sherlock threw his coat over his shoulders, along with his scarf around his neck. And he looked to John. John smiled as Sherlock almost melted right then and there.

He also couldn't leave John without another kiss, he missed kissing the soldier too much. And before John knew it, Sherlock was at his bedside and leaning over him. His curls brushed over John's forehead as the scarf brushed over his chest and John smirked into the next kiss Sherlock planted firmly.

Sherlock lingered for as long as he dared before he was reminded of the phone in his hand, and the case he was offered. They separated loudly before John whispered, "Please be careful, I love you," and Sherlock almost frowned.

He didn't deserve that, but he took it, smirking as he pecked John's lips one last time and returned the three words he never thought he'd say again. John smiled as Sherlock was actually gone this time, the door closing behind him. John sighed, trying to sleep, but how could do that with everything on his mind at once?

There was Sherlock. His injury. Victor. The Moriarty brothers (apparently). And then back to his injury. Then Moran. He did eventually doze off, but it was a dreamless and pointless sleep…

* * *

**Give me the address. – SH **even over a text, Lestrade could almost hear the demanding tone and he sighed, texting back the address at which he stood. Why hadn't he just got it over with earlier? He had no idea. He wasn't exactly sure where he was, but he knew it was somewhere in between St. Bart's and the Museum of London, that was for sure.

This alley was getting darker by the minute as Greg finally saw Sherlock appear. In his own car, and Gregory was still getting used to seeing Sherlock drive himself places. It was a little weird, but that's not what's important right now. "This is my weirdest one yet," Greg admitted as Sherlock waltzed in between the buildings and the darkening alley in between, not afraid of anything. Or so it seemed.

"Wow," was all he said before he looked at this. There was a lot of blood, but it was evidently two people, staked together with what resembled a sword, as the hilt looked like it, yes, a sword. Definitely, also a man and a woman. The hilt sticking out of his back was covered in crimson as their faces were twisted into emotions they experienced before their death.

There was scarlet there, too. Around their mouths as they had choked on their last breaths. Whoever did this was aiming for their spine, as it was probably cut clean in half as the man seemed to be pinning her to the wall. Just what exactly _were _they doing before they died? Obviously the woman was not enjoying herself… _oh, now that's just completely uncalled for._

Her blond long hair was covered in coughed up blood as the man's eyes were vacant but wide as he seemed to be smiling a bit. It was kinda creepy and really gross as the blood was spilling over his gums and teeth to eventually his lips and apparently all over the woman under him. But she had her own share of blood sprayed on her chest and there again, they were a bit off with being squished together. Whoever did this had a spot on aim for both of their spines. The middle of his, and hers.

The sword just low enough on him that it would be high enough on her that it caught them both by the bones that kept them upright. The woman was married, her ring indicated at least five years, maybe. She really liked that ring and probably her husband (or wife) in turn, too. She cleaned it every day, and never washed her hands with it on, same with her engagement ring.

But the man was recently divorced, a slight tan line left on his finger from a wedding band. Oh, now that is clever. He gets stabbed in the back and the innocent of the two gets hurt from the impact and his actions. And if they hadn't been killed like this, he'd be in jail for rape and she would be suffering from it. And so, in conclusion, they were both murdered so neither of them could get into anymore trouble and have to deal with despair eating away at them.

But it was still murder, and whoever committed it will still be thrown behind bars. Though Sherlock didn't believe the police and detectives were looking for someone strong, or skilled. Well, skilled to an extent, but not madly. Perhaps… a student? Somewhere around, hmm, college years? Or possibly even high school, they thought they were justifying what's been done here by just ending both of these people's suffering.

Interesting, really. And when Sherlock started relaying his thoughts aloud, Greg had a hard time keeping up, but he managed as he scribbled out a few notes and Sherlock got to the questions he always asks about the case itself. Gregory thought it weird he was asking about a student, but he looked to the scene again and put two and two together. He didn't protest when Sherlock also started ordering around the rest of the team on this investigation.

And he even laughed a bit as Anderson started to protest, but Sherlock shut him up with a finger in the air, "Would you at least use the amount of intelligence you _do_ have and follow your simple orders. Shouldn't be too hard, you don't even have to try to think for yourself," Sherlock gave a cold smile as Anderson huffed. He did as he was told, and sooner than later, that sword was in Sherlock's mitts. In a plastic containment wrap, of course.

But he wanted it for some reason. Of course, Sherlock knew why, but Gregory was confused as hell. At least he knew Sherlock would tell him what he found from it. That was the difference between Sherlock and regular detectives. Any other DI or private detective would have simply taken it just cause. But Sherlock was actually interested in it and he would study it instead of just 'confiscating' it and running away.

But Lestrade still tested, "You can keep it if you tell me all you find out about it," he offered.

"I was going to do both without you even asking or telling me to," Sherlock nodded. "Thank you," where someone else would have been confused, Gregory knew exactly what he meant by the thanks, and nodded as Sherlock walked off to his car. Still a bit weird to get used to, Greg has to admit. But soon Sherlock was gone and someone was at the DI's shoulder.

Greg looked to Anderson, "Yes?" he asked, gesturing for Anderson to speak.

"Why do you let him tell you, and us, what to do?" he asked, crinkling his nose up in disgust as that small but pretty black car disappeared.

"Because if I don't, he'll throw a fit, and Sherlock isn't one to make angry," he rose his brows to Anderson, "Get back to work," he shooed and Anderson followed suit as Gregory watched and the car finally completely disappeared. He wondered how much that thing must have cost him. And how the hell he could afford it with going to college and only being paid a bit for a big case.

Lestrade sighed, _At least he's alive and not like he was when John first left. That was terrifying…_

* * *

Sherlock drove back to Bart's, as he wanted to figure this sword out immediately. Plus, he wanted to clean it and see it's true beauty instead of it being masked by blood. He hoped that woman was truly in fear, or the one who did this would have done it for nothing, and their sentiment would have been misplaced. After all, she could have been simply giggling and when she saw a sword, she froze with fear.

It's also very possible that she was drunk and cheating (boy would Sherlock know about that), but he'll have to wait for results on the blood work for that confirmation. For now, he was walking through the door andMolly was questioning why he had a friggin sword in his arms.

He told her simply, "Case. Help?" he asked and she smiled, nodding. She hadn't worked by Sherlock's side in a while. But she almost didn't want to, then again, she knew him when he was working, and he tends to get really lazy. He'd ruin a lot before he ever got anything done with that habit of his. Despite what he tries, it's a little obvious that he depends on others more than himself when I comes to physically doing something.

Yes, he's brilliant, but he's also a lazy brat. Which was why Molly was pulling on gloves beside him as he situated himself on his favourite stool. She simply kept handing him things as he kept glancing at the metal beauty at his side. He really wanted to see it without blood.

But after a while, Molly was beginning to get bored with her movements as she yawned and Sherlock arched a brow at her, taking a glance at the tired woman at his side. She smiled to assure him she could stay here, but he gave a frown in return.

"If you'd rather be at home, then you may leave," he suggested with a hand gesture to the doors as he was to look back into the microscope. But his gaze was fixed on her as he leaned back over it.

"No, this is just a little boring as always, but I know you hate small talk and I actually want to be here. Home is a lot worse in the boredom factor, so I'm good." Another yawn threatened to get loose and she shoved it down her throat. Sherlock eyed her for a moment before deciding he would let her stay.

Sherlock glanced at his phone and wished he knew what the blood work would come back as. Molly saw that, and just as they were both staring at the phone, it lit up, vibrated against the table and dinged to show that a text had been sent.

Sherlock furrowed his brows as he looked over the mobile now in his hand. It was from John, but why would John text him knowing he was on a case? Those questions were pushed aside as he unlocked it with the simple push of a button and looked at the message inside.

Molly was about to look over his shoulder, as she normally does with friends, but she stopped herself and looked down to the floor as Sherlock let out a sigh of concern. "Molly, could you watch after this? I have to go," he left everything, leaving his scarf, his coat, his _experiment_, as he hurried out the double doors of the lab.

This was also why he came here instead of going home to work, because he could simply go to the hospital part of this place and see John easily. His anger burned hotter and hotter as he drew nearer to the door where John was staying behind…

* * *

John's heart rate went up in fear as the one man he didn't want to see stepped in the room. John flinched at that smile, and he grimaced as it showed the teeth under those _(punchable)_ lips. "What the hell do you want?" John snapped at the man now standing at his bedside and contemplating taking the chair.

"Oh, watch your pretty mouth, John," he smirked, "it could get you into a lot of messy trouble," his smile was dark and John shivered slightly as he did sit in the chair beside him. "But if you must know, I am here for the sake of speaking to you," he folded his hand in his lap as he crossed one leg over the other.

"Speaking to me? Don't tell me you have Sherlock or something stupid like that," John hoped that wasn't the case. He couldn't do anything but lay there and look to this man with a white hot fury that threatened to boil over.

"Oh, no, nothing boring like that. Though, I have to say he's very distracted. But," he drew john's attention from Sherlock, "I came here to talk to you, and about you," he smiled as John frowned angrily.

"Why the hell do you want to talk to me? Hm?" he was irritated from the moment he saw this arse.

"To make you stay quiet," he said simply.

"About?" John asked, and he would have crossed his arms over his chest, but that wasn't possible at this moment in time. So he settled for raising brow and the man beside him smirked.

"To make sure you don't tell Sherlock what I'm about to tell you," he explained lightly and John wondered what could be so important.

"Well then, spit it out," he demanded as the man laughed lightly, and grinned. But he said nothing as john got more frustrated. "You came here to tell me something, you rat! Now what exactly is it that you're about to tell me?!" John asked, eying the man beside him.

"I won't tell unless you text your boyfriend first, tell him who's here and that I said hi. As I said, he's very distracted, and that won't do," he grinned slyly and John rolled his eyes as he plucked his phone from the table.

**Sherlock, I'm sorry about this… But, Jim says hi… - JW **"Now tell me," he demanded as Jim rose his brows and John scowled.

"Alright, okay. Always so demanding, Captain," he winked and John cringed at the sight. "I'll bet Sherlock likes that." He grinned wider when John's fists clenched, even the one on his bad shoulder, it hurt so badly, yet the need to punch this man hurt worse than anything else. "Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that Sherlock wasn't always as cheerful when he was thinking about you, and you were out getting shot at."

"How do you mean?" he asked angrily as Sherlock stepped in the room, looking very concerned when he saw Jim sitting right there…

* * *

**Sherlock's got some xplainin' to do... Haha! Reviews? **


	17. Wind

Seventeen: Wind

John sat up quickly, causing so much pain to shoot through his shoulder that he collapsed back to the bed. Yet he managed a few words through a strangled cry, "Leave me… alone," he was panting as Sherlock was by his side in less than a second, telling him to keep calm and stop breathing so hard, "It'll only hurt you more." Jim grinned.

"Why would I leave you alone when all you two do when you're alone are boring things? Why don't we have some fun?!" he actually seemed joyous as he watched John heave very angry and very pained breaths as Sherlock was trying to simply calm him so he didn't hurt himself and/or someone else.

"No! Don't touch me!" he yelled. Sherlock stepped back, thinking he had done something as well. Though, once he realized he hadn't really, he glared at Jim in turn. "You leave, or I will hit you," John pointed, "I don't care if I tear my stitches. Get! Out!" he demanded. Sherlock cringed at that tone of voice coming from his lover and Jim grinned wider.

"As you wish," he bowed slightly as he stood and walked out the room, finally and surprisingly satisfied he'd pissed off the usually well mannered man.

Back to the room Jim left them a disarray in: Sherlock was on top of John, kissing trails across his face and down his neck as John's pulse slowed and he was returning to his normal state of simply being Holmes' Watson. "John, I love you, please just calm down," Sherlock kept repeating phrases somewhat similar to that (and that exactly) as John was calming to the feel of Sherlock's lips and the sound of his deep and voluptuous raising voice. _Mmmmm…._

"I love you, so much," John reached up and took Sherlock's neck with his one arm. "Please don't ever leave me and I promise to stay," John begged and Sherlock nodded in agreement, but then remembering the detective's case he decided against it right now. "Except for now, of course," John sighed. Sherlock was confused, then he realized John was thinking about it, too. "You really should get back to whatever case you got," he suggested.

Sherlock bowed his head, "I'm sorry," he apologized for having to leave again as John looked into those grey eyes he loved so much more than his own. Sherlock stared in return.

"No, don't do that. Go back to what you love, and do best. Go on," he shooed Sherlock from his lap and Sherlock smiled.

"But I love and do you best," he said, being coy as fuck.

"Fine, second best," John agreed and Sherlock grinned, giving John a slow kiss before finally returning to Molly and the lab…

* * *

"Yes! Finally! It's beautiful isn't it, Molly?! Oh yes!" Sherlock handled the sword well for someone who only ever had three days of classes with one. Though, he has always learned faster than anyone else. Long story.. anyway, Molly watched as he swung it about and then carefully placed it in a sheath of new plastic that wasn't covered in blood on the inside. He was also, of course, happy with the results of the particles of metal that had flaked off into the blood that he had been studying.

It showed a variety of metals, showing that this was also a good sword and also displaying the culture it was from in broad daylight. Now he had to show John and also wait for the other idiots to get up off their lazy asses and do some work on that blood from the victims. Sherlock would do it himself, but that was boring and way too easy and hello! He's one lazy bastard when it comes to boring things. _Like eating! Ugh…_

And so when he rushed off to go see John, Molly smirked and simply nodded that she would do everything for him, once more, but this time with a little less feelings towards him. Or so she wished. She sighed as she cleaned up all the mess he left behind. Well, _almost _all of it…

* * *

"John! John, look at what I get to keep!" he held it up in front of John like a teen who just got done playing the best but hardest game of their lives and now they're boasting. Although, for Sherlock, to the dazed and sleepy John, he was boasting about a difficult game he had challenged and won. Oh, and he worked out who the killer was within a few seconds of_ really_ thinking about it. It was a bit obvious and it tears him to pieces to have to tell John. But he has to, it's part of showing off and he needs to know.

"Alright, alright, bloody show off," _(see?)_ John put a hand to his temple and rubbed the head ache away. It was a small one but had arisen when Sherlock burst through the door. Not that he was annoying, just that it was really loud and right next to John's ear. No, actually, Sherlock was annoying sometimes…

"Well, John I _am_ a show off, it's what we do! Look at this handle, though," he pulled it out and John was almost dizzy from how sharp it looked, even after it had obviously been impaled in someone before. And suddenly Sherlock shut up and plopped in the chair beside the bed, hanging his head and almost dropping the sword in his hands.

"Sherlock?" John tried to sit up. "Sherlock…" he nudged the man's shoulder and Sherlock nodded, then shook his head, his eyes barely staying open. It was getting late and Sherlock had no doubt been leaning over a microscope almost all day.

"I'm tired, John," he slurred and yawned. _Yeah, that makes two of us… _ "And I have things to explain in the morning, can we sleep? I know you're tired, too," he said as he pushed the metal back in the sheath and took his coat and scarf from his shoulders. He placed it all in the chair, and wondered if the sword might… nah, why would it matter? Unless… oh, clever, but the downfall of a good assassin.

So instead of leaving the sword simply on the chair, he covered it lazily with his jacket. So obvious no one would care to look there, unless they were of higher intelligence. Or really stupid. But Sherlock was too tired to deduct his way through all that.

So, he skipped it all and slipped from his shoes, climbing into the bed with John and letting himself power down for the night that had snuck up on him. He yawned as John put a kiss to his curls, and he snuggled up under John's jaw. "I love you," he mumbled in a whisper.

"I love you, too, bloody git. Go to sleep," John said falling asleep shortly after Sherlock did…

* * *

The sword remained, (well not on the chair, as Sherlock had moved it) and Sherlock now understood that it was because it was meant to be taken and it was meant to be found out, as all the signs were really obvious. He had been too distracted to notice yesterday. But, before he told John about the sword, he had to tell him about when he was away. There was a lot to explain with that one…

"As I said, it seemed like lots of things at the moment, but not so much anymore, love." John frowned slightly, but nodded for Sherlock to go ahead. First, it was with what Jim was about to say, as John had asked why it was so important (how it would ruin them, basically. As that was always Jim's goal). "Well, while you were gone… I uhm. After the first two years, I um…" he couldn't get it out as he stared into John's blue eyes eying him for an answer.

"Would it be easier somehow if you showed me?" John asked, wondering if it was something like that. Something easier to show then to say. Sherlock nodded and was surprised that John always knew what was going through his mind but kept his face to a neutral and thinking pose, which he felt was easiest to hide himself in. John couldn't tell what he was thinking, and it was to stay that way.

Sherlock stood from the chair he had sat in as he had been telling John he had to explain some things. Now it was time for explanations, "Don't hate me, John," he warned as he had a hold of the bottom of his button down He had taken it from his trousers and was staring into John's eyes, wondering if he should. But he started it, so now it was time to finish.

John stared, "Sherlock, don't even-" And Sherlock lifted his shirt to show something that cut him off and John could have punched the daylights out of him for doing it. But once John calmed (a bit), all he could do was have tears poke his eyes saying to let them fall. But they never fell, yet they were there, prodding him to let them go. Sherlock knew those kinds of angry/sad tears, though… and he wished he didn't have to see them.

"John, I didn't. I'm sorry, it just… it's a little hard to hide an emotion that you feel so strongly about, but I had no choice but to hide it. Or else everyone would have thought…" and yet now he was hiding everything perfectly well, having a flat tone and a bored face about his features.

"Thought you were what?! Sherlock? Human?" John was confused as to why Sherlock simply shrugged, but he looked to Sherlock's eyes and there was definitely more there than could have been expressed in one's facial features. John calmed a bit more and tried to convince himself Sherlock cared.

"Actually Sherlock," he continued, "you shouldn't be sorry. I was the idiot who left and now you're the one to drown in the tears I haven't yet should have shed. And I honestly don't plan to let them fall. Or you," he admitted and Sherlock straightened his lips as he let the shirt fall and didn't bother tucking it in again. John sighed at that, and he gestured for Sherlock to come closer.

Sherlock complied, a bit confused. John's hand was up his shirt in seconds and felt over the scars left of the consequences of leaving a loved one that needed you more than anything. He didn't say a thing, but the movements of gentle strokes, and simply feeling the scars he left with Sherlock's hand, (if that makes any sense) said he was sorry. But they were both soooo tired of apologizing.

Instead, "You always get the worst end of every stick I pick up," John said, looking up to the curls now above his face. He hadn't even noticed Sherlock had moved until he looked up. And if they were still just friends, this would have been too close for comfort, as John could smell that one thing he had identified as Sherlock's scent.

"Not this time," Sherlock pointed out as he stood up straight again and finally put his shirt back in his trousers. John was a bit disappointed, as he wanted to touch Sherlock again and make sure he was okay now. "Do you want to know what made me stop?" Sherlock asked, gesturing to the healed skin under his shirt that John wanted to be scar-free.

But John nodded. And Sherlock answered the question he had proposed, "Thinking of you coming home, and not leaving me forever. I was reminded that you wouldn't always be away, and that shock of not having you home went away. I was kindly assured by myself and surely about everyone else," he rolled his eyes, "that you would be home and wouldn't leave me. Would you?" Sherlock asked as his eyes settled on his boyfriend and said boyfriend gulped.

His commander before had told him he wasn't going home for a while, and that probably would have been another year, or maybe two. So, how could he say that he was planning on not coming back? but if he wanted Sherlock's trust, as Sherlock obviously gave John, then John had to own up to the truth. Even though the truth hates him.

"Listen, Sherlock. Erm, just before I was injured. Um… my commander had pulled me from the field for a moment," he explained and Sherlock's brows furrowed as he listened and stared in a listening manner. "She had said I wasn't coming home for a long time, and to be honest, I was glad at that moment in time. About staying out on the field, I mean." And Sherlock's 'nonexistent' heart shattered as John looked everywhere but Sherlock.

First he was discouraged that John would do that, and then it was the fury towards his commander (and him) for keeping him away. "But," and that made his thoughts stop completely as he waited for John to suck in a breath and let it go. And when Sherlock stopped thinking, that wasn't a good thing. "Now that I am home, I realize that it would have been a really shitty way to die. Not knowing you were still here, loving me, as always…. always…" and he couldn't speak from the choking of tears threatening his eyes again.

He swallowed them but Sherlock didn't help when his head was bowed and his own tears were dripping to the floor. "Stop… stop making me so…" he whispered in confusion as he then regretted that. _Why do I love you, and yet want to punch you in the gut so you know how I feel? It __**really**__ is not fair that you wanted to stay, but it's also not fair for you to come home hurt… I can't even love you properly anymore. I can't touch you without it hurting both of us, I can't kiss you without being reminded that you obviously weren't enough…_

_Why, John Watson, why do you have to be so difficult? There are so many things I could say that would make you hurt, and yet so many that could make you so happy. Like the fact that I've been waiting for you to come home for too long and I want you to love me, too. _

_But, I hate that you wished you could stay in the battlefield, away from me. So far away, so much so that I couldn't comprehend what I was doing until I had a blade in my hands. I don't understand any of this. I don't understand and I don't know, and it's killing me! I hate not Knowing, John Watson, do you hear me? I hate not knowing and so, in turn, I might as well hate you… _

John looked a mix of things when Sherlock looked back up. He was frowning yet sad, yet somehow happy (just the tiniest bit) trying to figure out what to think and then Sherlock realized why. He had just, out of complete habit, said everything he was thinking. Out loud and for himself to hear but for John to hear as well…

* * *

**I'm so mean... **


	18. Boring

Eighteen: Boring

"'I promise I won't'," John recited as Sherlock was about to leave the room. Sherlock's hand rested about the door knob as he thought of all the reasons John could have said this to him. He stopped and froze in features and in place as he tried to think where this was coming from so suddenly. Then it almost literally hit him and he staggered a bit as the door was shut in front of him.

"I'm sorry?" as in: what?

"'Please don't ever leave me alone.' 'I promise I won't,'" was all John said as something in Sherlock's brain clicked and John saw it, too as he realized where this quote was being pulled from. It had been a promise a very long time ago, that Sherlock had made to John. He wouldn't have remembered it in this moment if John hadn't said anything, as Sherlock thought John would want nothing to do with him anymore.

But, now it seemed as though he was bringing up this promise to keep Sherlock around for at least a bit longer as the look on his face was sad, but a little smug. Would John recite this to hurt Sherlock? No, Sherlock didn't think so…

See, it had happened at least a few days after John had come out of the hospital for the first time, and while John was walking out, he had asked Sherlock to not leave him, ever. And Sherlock promised he would never. Now, walking down that sidewalk again, in his mind palace, Sherlock realized he had made a promise. And a true man never goes back on a promise.

Sherlock may not be a very good man, but he was honest when it came to promises. Everything he had promised, though lately, seemed to fall apart at the stitches that weren't tightly bound in the first place. Papers falling because the staple wasn't able to hold so much. Sherlock falling into himself because he had just (literally) told John he hated him. And what does he do?

He recites their promise, instead of letting Sherlock leave. "Why?" was all Sherlock could croak out before he gulped down the knot that had formed in his stomach and was rising to his throat, constricting him from speaking further.

"How do you mean?" John finally asked his own question as Sherlock wheeled around, his curls and coat flying as John's eyes met the other man's and didn't move.

"Why, John Watson? Why must you want me to stay? I told you I… I told you…" he couldn't even say it again, he really hadn't meant it.

"You told me you hated me because you didn't know me. Or at least," he cleared his throat quickly, "you didn't know what I was thinking." John stared for a response that Sherlock opened his mouth to give. But nothing came out. He couldn't believe that after everything…

Weren't people who told you that they hated you supposed to be hated back? John saw the question mark practically hanging above Sherlock's curls, and smiled. "Sherlock," he started as the bed raised because he could finally do it without his shoulder hurting too much, "did you really think that I would give up," it stopped rising, "on us because you were simply frustrated?" he asked honestly and Sherlock stared with the widest eyes John had ever seen on him.

"Well, I literally just stood here and said I… hate you. I was pretty sure that you were supposed to hate me back…" he reasoned and John rolled his eyes. "Don't roll your eyes at me, Watson, it is highly annoying," he waggled his finger and John smiled wider.

"Sherlock," John patted the bed so Sherlock sat there and John continued. "You may understand other people's emotions do, but mine, you will never understand. Not even I understand what goes on in my head. But, all I can think right now is how adorable it is that you're all flustered because you can't solve me like you do a case, or your homework, or other people…" John grinned and Sherlock pouted.

"No matter what you say, I will find you out," he kissed John's brow as it crinkled in confusion. Then just a bit of irritation.

"When can I get out of this bloody hospital?" John asked as Sherlock's loving chuckle filled the air around him. Sherlock tsked as he kissed John's forehead and John smiled. He was starting to sound like Sherlock a bit with wanting out of the _boring_ hospital. "I mean it, though. When can we go home?" John asked in all seriousness.

* * *

"God, finally," John complained as he grabbed at Sherlock's hand.

"John, let me see," he demanded as John pulled up his shirt. John mumbled a questioned 'Satisfied?' as Sherlock nodded. "So, I'm guessing," he looked John over for a quick second, "that you want me now? Oh… but how? You know I can never deduce these things…" Sherlock smiled as John's eyes were full of lust and Sherlock could feel an aching erection on his abdomen as John sat about his lap.

They were finally home, in their flat, and alone as John was completely healed and their squabbles could wait until after they had each other. Waiting for this for so long, was just too much for both of the Baker Street Boys.

"You never know how I want you, that's always the fun part…" John let it fade as he trailed open mouthed kisses along Sherlock's throat and part of what he could reach of Sherlock's chest, with his buttons being open and all.

"The best," Sherlock agreed as he let John pull at his buttons and Sherlock's hand slipped under John's shirt to the small of his back. John shivered at how much colder Sherlock had gotten sitting here, alone and thinking. About the case they had gotten? John could only hope so, but that didn't matter as he was halfway done with Sherlock's shirt.

Sherlock moaned when John's warm lips were against his skin again. He hadn't had John like this in so long. But he knew he definitely won't be in charge tonight. He didn't care, the passion still burned so hot he was frozen. Makes no sense, but neither did John removing Sherlock's shirt from his shoulders and instantly slipping to his knees in front of the detective.

"John?" Sherlock questioned before the doctor's lips were about his abdomen again, and this time tracing over every scar from the past and every bruise he'd had lately from cases. John's mouth worked to try to make them feel better, even now, running his tongue over some as furtive kisses were placed over others. Sherlock just watched as he felt as though every one of those scars was to disappear. He didn't like them anymore, not if they made John worry so much. "John, don't-"

John cut him off with a kiss to his lips and a nibble to his bottom lip, "Do shut up, Holmes," John demanded as Sherlock shivered at that whisper.

"As long as Watson's kisses keep coming," he smirked and John smiled, continuing what he was working on. Every kiss had to be a flower, and one that would grow to the beauty of their love…

* * *

**I know, I know, it's really short this time around. But, I wanted to finish this and move on to another idea I have for a story. So, those of who liked this, should read the newest one when it's posted and they get the chance. Or you could just review and leave now… I don't mind, either way. **


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